


A Khan By Any Other Name

by BeautifullyObsessed



Category: John Harrison - Fandom, Khan - Fandom, Khan Noonien Singh - Fandom, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Into Darkness - Fandom
Genre: Classic Cars, Danger, F/M, Good Samaritan, Mystery man, NSFW, Pre-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Romance, Smut, Star Trek: Into Darkness, Suspense, no good deed goes unpunished
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:48:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7688587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifullyObsessed/pseuds/BeautifullyObsessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seraphina DiPietro is wise in the ways of the world; she has to be, as she travels the California coast as a torch singer in pubs, bars and nightclubs.  She knows how to take care of herself and stay out of trouble--most of the time.  When trouble comes, it's usually because her kind heart overrides her common sense.  Stopping to check on a handsome stranger, stranded roadside in the Mojave Desert, her curiosity is piqued as much by the classic, mint-looking Mustang, as by the driver--a tall, dark mysterious drink of water, whom she quickly learns is so much more than what he appears.</p><p>A healthy bit of suspense to begin with--some rather smutty adult content to follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fiction was inspired by a black & white photo of Benedict Cumberbatch, seated on the hood of a classic car--taken during the publicity run up to the release of Star Trek: Into Darkness. It got under my skin, as I imagined John Harrison on the run from Admiral Marcus and his minions, and when I mentioned the idea to a couple of friends on tumblr, they bade me run with it. Thanks, ladies--hope you enjoy the ride to come!
> 
> Of course, I do not own the character John Harrison/Khan Noonien Singh (although I like to think of him as "my dark magnificent prince"), so all credit for creation of the character and the world he inhabits to the brilliant minds of Gene Roddenberry, JJ Abrams, and the writers and creative staff who gave us the original series and the alternate timeline series. As a Trekkie from my early teens (who wrote her first fan fiction based on "The Enterprise Incident") I must say that I love both these worlds unabashedly--and I'm thrilled to bring my little story to life here!

Her first mistake had been slowing down to have a second look.  Three plus years with a vintage car enthusiast (her ex now, thank god; _three months_ _gone and good riddance to him_ , her mantra _whenever_ he crossed her mind) had ingrained the habit in her.  The habit, frankly, plus an appreciative eye for the sweetest of rides.  Thanks to Simon (and his obsession), she could distinguish in seconds between the genuine article and that which easily fooled the masses, a cunningly detailed replica—and the sleek, cobalt blue convertible that looked to have skidded to the side of the road, leaving a spray of gravel and black, burnt rubber in its tracks, was absolutely the real thing.

So she’d slowed down, only half meaning to, cataloguing the finer features and quickly estimating its worth, while admiring its classic lines and the bright flash of its chrome detailing.  Seraphina couldn’t keep from grinning, thinking about how instantly covetous Simon would be in the face of such a find, and how jealous he would feel to know that _she_ had stumbled upon it with no effort whatsoever.

The man bending over the open hood straightened as she passed, arresting her attention with a commanding, steely gaze that left her feeling like a marked woman.  As though he not only saw her, in her every visible feature, but somehow inexplicably _knew_ her—and needed her.  Vitally, and immediately. Despite the lick of common sense apprehension that fluttered through her vitals, simple curiosity and a deeply embedded tendency to act the good Samaritan had Seraphina making her second, even bigger, mistake of the afternoon--pulling over to park her hovercraft several feet in front of the antique Mustang.

She looked into her rearview mirror; he had turned to watch how she would proceed, holding his hands up with his fingers splayed wide, surely his way of expressing she could approach him safely.  “ _Not so fast, buddy,_ ” she murmured, “ _I wasn’t born yesterday…and I’ve seen your kind before._ ”  Sera cut the engine, pulling the keys from the ignition and flicking the lock mechanism off the small can of mace dangling from her keyring.  She wasn’t so foolhardy as to face the tall, well-built stranger unprepared; nearly a decade of travels up and down the coast of California, performing in seedy, small town dives, then upscale pubs and bars, and finally city nightclubs, had taught her well to be ever on her guard.  And she’d learned a few tricks in the course of her career, for if the mace should fail; she could—and had—flipped a drunk onto his back a time or two, who’d tried to cop a feel when she passed across a darkened dancefloor; and she knew all too well how much force was necessary, knee to groin, in order to incapacitate those pigheaded brutes who wouldn’t take ‘ _no_ ’ for an answer when they followed her out to the parking lot at the end of a gig.  Handsome he might be ( _decidedly so_ , she mused, _angular features, piercing eyes, thick, dark hair, an errant lock strayed upon his brow; such a striking combination!_ ) but she was not fool enough to ever judge a book by its cover.

The stranger stood motionless a moment more--clearly observing Seraphina as she closed her hatch (careful not to let it fully latch, in case a hasty retreat was required)--the light breeze ruffling that wayward lock until he brushed it back, a swift yet languid move that spoke of cat-like grace and an elegance that didn’t fit the setting or the way that he was clothed.  He was straight-backed, slim-hipped, long-legged in a trim pair of black jeans, beneath a plain, body-hugging white tee--and poised with a confidence befitting a prince, and not the work-a-day posture of a blue-collar joe or road-weary drifter.  Yet the smile he gave her did not reach his eyes; Sera found it a little feral, and felt her pulse increase as a taste of adrenaline—that trusty “fight or flee” response—hit her system.

But she was already committed, having left the safety and cool comfort of her two-seater; if he was an actual threat, the worst that she could do was show the weakness of timidity now.  Sera left her sunglasses in place, determined he would not read a bit of doubt in her eyes or bearing, the can of mace tucked neatly in the palm of her left hand, and walking forward into the dry, baking, Mojave Desert heat.

Sera gave a low but audible whistle, advancing as casually as she could, finally calling out to him, “She’s a real beauty—and _someone’s_ taken serious loving care of her, too.”  The 300-year-old Mustang appeared as close to mint as any vintage vehicle she had ever seen; given its obvious value, she had to wonder why the hell he would even have it on the road—especially in desert conditions.  That instinctive voice of warning sounded an answer in her head:  _that’s because it’s_ not _his_. 

 _Okay Sera_ , she cautioned herself, _give him the benefit of the doubt_ ; _he_ _could have come by that automobile in any number of ways_.  She stopped a half-dozen steps short of where the stranger stood, aiming to read his reaction as she asked, “Early 21 st century, right?”

The man smiled—more sincerely this time—nodding his affirmation.  “That she is,” he replied, sparing a brief look at the stalled car, “Unfortunately, she’s not going anywhere, anytime soon.”  His smooth, deep voice was as pleasant to the ears as his form was easy on the eyes, and his accent distinctly British, leaving Sera to ponder how and why he’d found his way into the midst of the Mojave.  “I believe it’s the transmission,” he added.

Sera could hear the steady tick of the internal combustion engine as it cooled, informing her he hadn’t been stranded here long.  Surveying the area behind the Mustang, she spotted several telltale puddles of transmission fluid in the car’s wake.  “Looks like you might’ve blown a hose,” she speculated, indicating the fluid spotting the back trail.  “Those kind of parts are few and far between these days…but I’ll bet we can find a mechanic who might be able to jury rig something enough to get you on the road again.”  She turned back to find him watching her, his exotic-looking eyes narrowed.  Appraising her in a way that made her feel…exposed.  Unnerved.  Vulnerable.  Sera squeezed her hand against the reassuring weight of the small, defensive weapon cupped in her palm.

In an instant, his eyes flicked downward, as though he’d registered that small, innocuous movement.  She rushed to fill the vacuum of silence that hung between them, hoping to distract him from whatever suspicions her little move might have awakened.  “I know collectors,” she told him, running her right hand through her hair, fluffing it a bit, hoping to draw his eyes upwards again “…fanatical ones, who would pay a small fortune to make such a treasure theirs.”  She leaned toward him, adopting a confidential tone, honest in her curiosity, “However did _you_ manage it?”

He inhaled sharply, a fleeting look of calculation crossing his face.  “It was an unexpected…” he paused, studying her carefully, “…but well-timed acquisition of…convenience.”  Such a reply was far too vague to answer her question—but didn’t surprise her in the least.

“Then you must be a man of remarkable luck, Mr…” Sera let her voice trail off with the question, fully expecting there would be little truth in his answer.

And then he was moving past the safe cushion of space between them, extending a large, powerful looking hand towards her, as way of introduction.  “Harrison. I’m…John Harrison.” His grip was firm, not too tight, but Sera sensed—felt—a strength restrained that fit his bearing perfectly.  Intimidating, but not frightening; confident—and intriguing her beyond her good sense should allow; and his eyes were locked on her, regarding her with such curiosity and healthy consideration, that she slipped her sunglasses atop her head without a moment’s hesitation, meaning to meet his gaze directly. 

Sera hadn’t realized she was staring until he cleared his throat. “And you are?” he asked, smiling warmly, surely feeling the advantage now of having gotten past her bravado.  Her mouth felt dry—it _had_ to be the arid atmosphere, and not embarrassment over her awkward reaction to him; so that her tongue actually stuck a moment before she stammered out her name.  “Seraphina.”  She said it rather breathlessly, then bit her lip against revealing her surname.

Harrison had not released her hand, although his grip was gentle, and the warmth of his skin pleasant against her own.  “Seraphina,” he repeated, the small smile creases bracketing his mouth deepening, and a hint of his true smile finally reaching his eyes.  “Lovely name, Seraphina. Exotic in its way, and as rare and fetching as a desert rose.”

Ordinarily, Sera would laugh off such obvious flattery; she’d had enough of it, and insincere at that, throughout her years as a torch singer.  This stranger—John Harrison—looked a better class of man than those who usually tried to ply her with compliments.  That was no reason, of course, to take him more seriously than any of the others.  And yet she felt a sort of… _solemnity_ …about him; a dignity and self-assurance that spoke of a far more purposeful life than those of plain, ordinary men. He was damned attractive too, enough to have her a bit flummoxed at so dear a distance.   

“Seraphina,” he reiterated, teasing the syllables along, the depth and richness of his voice making her shiver a little, despite the desert heat. “A derivative of _seraphim_ , the highest order of celestial beings in religious myth.  Heavenly, fiery, winged immortals, tasked with surrounding and praising the throne of god.”  He leaned nearer, well past that unspoken barrier of personal space, closing his eyes while inhaling deeply through his nose, seeming to seek her essence by scent alone. 

Such unexpected intimacy left Seraphina speechless, every instinct she had telling her to give ground a step or two—yet she remained still, for when he opened his eyes, she found herself fascinated by their changing hue.  Seraphina had never seen such striking eyes on a man before; and she’d have sworn that they were blue.  Pale blue when she’d seen them from a distance, in the bright, unfiltered sunlight; then a surprising, piercing, azure when she met him face to face.  Now they seemed to shift unpredictably from purely blue to nearly green with however the light played upon them, with flecks of gold speckling around the pupils.

“I wonder,” he mused, almost to himself, while Sera remained entranced and silent, unable to look away despite knowing she must appear utterly foolish, “Might you be the angel of mercy I’m in such desperate need of?”

Befuddled, Sera sputtered back, “I…um…what?”, finally taking a step back and pulling her hand from his grasp.   

“I mean to say how fortunate I am, you came along precisely as you did.” Harrison shrugged and took a step back as well, his manner self-effacing enough to lend sincerity to his words, “And that your nature is a kind one—I imagine most women would have cruised by without a care for my predicament, given this isolated location and the potential threat I could embody.”

Regaining her composure, Sera lifted her chin proudly, “I’ve managed to look after myself for many years now, _and_ in dodgier situations.”  Her usual insouciance restored, she asked the most vital of questions, looking him squarely in the eyes to read the truth before he even answered, “Do I have reason to fear for my safety, Mr. Harrison?”

His eyes widened and he grinned, and then he began to laugh.  Heartfelt, and deep in his throat; the rich sound of melted, dark chocolate—the rare sort of sweet that was supposed to be healthy for one, but only if consumed in moderation.  _A woman could lose her way in such a laugh_ , she realized, _and_ _I’ll bet he knows it too_.

“If there was any reason at all, you’ve quite disarmed me already.”  Now it seemed he was sizing her up beyond first impressions—and liking what he saw, by the look of satisfaction dawning on his face.  “I promise you, Ms…”

“It’s just Seraphina for now please, if it’s all the same to you.”  Sera pressed her lips thin against the smile that wanted to break forth, enjoying both his unspoken surprise at her overall boldness—and what she dared to believe was an appreciation of her physical charms.

Harrison acquiesced with a tilt of his head, “Then I promise you, pretty Seraphina, that I harbor no ill intent towards you.  And I would be deeply indebted to you for the aid I am sure you intend to offer me.”

She felt her cheeks flush at his easy compliment--not taken in, but happy to accept it nonetheless.  “Well, it’s a shame to have to abandon her here, but the closest hope you have for a spare part—and a mechanic with working knowledge of antique cars—is at least a hundred miles away.”

“Alright then,” he affirmed, moving past her to slam shut the Mustang’s hood, “We should probably be on our way.” 

“Of course.”  Sera turned to follow him, wanting a closer look at the rare vehicle before they drove away.  “You should put the top up, too; you may not make it back here until tomorrow at least.”

He nodded again, striding to the driver’s side door to start the car and raise the top.  _Something not quite right here_ , she thought, frowning; _I could_ _swear this model, and the ones that followed, had a remote on the key fob to control the mechanism_.  It reminded her that she’d first thought the car did not belong to him—and that somehow she’d let his charm cause her to lower her guard.

Sera stepped to the passenger side, hoping for a peek inside to confirm her suspicion.  “You ought to raise the windows, too,” she told him, leaning close enough to peer inside the lowered passenger side window, “No telling what might find its way in her once dark falls.  It gets pretty cold here at night…”  She swallowed hard when she got a look at the ignition cylinder; it had been removed from its place beneath the steering wheel, and hung down from several wires; the wires themselves appeared to have been rearranged.

Her heart in her throat, Seraphina searched her memory for the word to describe exactly what she was seeing.  Hotwired.  That’s what they called it; a quick and easy way to boost a car.  Simon had educated her, marveling at the skill of those he’d read about who could do it in a less than a minute.  She’d never dreamed of seeing something like it up close.  Yet there is was, and the man who’d done it clearly hadn’t wanted her to see it, which meant…

He was faster than her by far; almost preternaturally fast.  Harrison had grabbed her left arm ( _damn, he_ had _noticed she carried something there!_ ) through the window opening, his grip digging into her flesh painfully. “Drop it,” he ordered her, “Drop it now. I can explain everything if you can just remain calm, Seraphina.”

She didn’t mean to, but she whimpered softly, not only at the discomfort he was inflicting, but for the cold menace in his eyes.  Had she thought them beautiful, compelling, alluring just minutes ago? Now it seemed to her they were the deadliest eyes she had seen in her life.

 

**_(to be continued)_ **


	2. Chapter 2

“Drop it now,” he repeated, with the sure authority of a man accustomed to having his orders obeyed, “and I promise I will _not_ hurt you.”

Despite his iron grip, Seraphina struggled to pull her arm away, hissing through teeth gritted against the pain, “Won’t hurt me?  You’re hurting me now.”

Harrison’s hold on her arm loosened some; she was still tightly caught, but the pressure of his grasp, the pain, had receded a fair bit—although she knew she’d find dark, finger-shaped bruises there in short order.  _If_ she even lived that long.  “Forgive me,” he told her, his voice low and even, “I’d forgotten how fragile your bones can be.”

 _What an odd thing to say_ , she thought, straining for release from his clutch and realizing it was all too impossible; she was no match for his strength, and even if she could manage to trigger the mace, she had no sure way to aim it properly.  She felt desperate, frightened tears well up, but squeezed her eyes shut against them—for she would not give her assailant the satisfaction of her despair, nor would she beg for mercy.

He must’ve read that quiet resignation on her face, for he tugged her fist close and covered it with his free hand, urging her to see reason, “You cannot win this struggle, Seraphina.  Your resistance is futile; surely you understand this?”  Harrison’s voice was silk persuasion, rich and dark and seductive—at complete odds with the very real threat he presented.  “I could easily break your wrist and prize your little weapon from your fingers—but I honestly have no desire to hurt you.  Just let it go.”  And then, to her great surprise, he added, “Please.”

Blinking through the tears that fell against her will, tears that betrayed weakness when she wanted to be strong, Seraphina met his eyes again.  His beautiful, deadly eyes—and saw in them an unexpected sincerity that matched his gentle “please”.  She bowed her head and opened her fist, leaving her key and the can of mace to fall onto the passenger seat.

“There—that wasn’t so difficult after all, was it?”  Why was his voice so soothing?  Fear of what he might do to her next coursed through her veins, yet Seraphina thought she could easily crumple to the ground, curl up into a fetal ball, and let his voice see her into untroubled darkness.  The heat, the sudden fear, the adrenaline, the struggle—all of it had sapped her of the will, at least for the moment, to face whatever might come next.  She’d always believed it wasn’t in her nature to fall apart so quickly, but she felt that way now, all the same.

True to his word, Harrison released her arm, but Seraphina remained in place, braced against the passenger side door, shaking in the aftermath and considering her very limited options.  She might try to make it to her hovercraft, but the stranger now held her key; and even if she had the strength to run and the speed to outpace him, to flee into the desert at her back would be equally as brutal as anything he might do to her.  She’d have to make her stand right here, then—and though she was no match for his size and strength, she knew enough to leave him hurting before he took her down for good.

Taking stock of her condition—mentally prepared to fight him off as best as she could--Seraphina flexed her left wrist carefully, wincing as she explored her tender forearm with cautious fingers.  Nothing broken at least, though she felt a bone-deep ache; but it would not be enough to hamper any effort to defend herself.   

Strangely, Harrison was ignoring her at the moment; having retrieved her keychain, he had torn the can of mace free with no effort, before hurtling it carelessly into the desert.  Seraphina had a vivid image of her own broken, half-naked body flung away just as easily, and left upon the sand for carrion-eaters to feast on.  She shoved the idea down deep, knowing such fear would only cripple her—and was immediately dumbfounded when he held the key out to her.  

“Did I not say I have no wish to harm you?”  Harrison’s eyes bored into her own, searching for calm and reasoned understanding.  “In spite of how it appears, we are _equally_ vulnerable in this place and situation.  We _must_ find a way to trust one another.”  Sera only continued to regard him warily.  “Take this,” he insisted, “If I judge you correctly, simple concern for a traveler in need motivated you to stop.  And in keeping with your nature, I believe that you will not deny me the help that I need.”

Sera studied his face, looking for signs of deception, skittish to trust him but accepting his peace offering nevertheless.  “You lied,” she said, defiant yet holding her anger at bay, “This car isn’t yours…”

Harrison nodded, his full lips pressed together against a small, placid smile, “I never claimed that it was…”

“It’s stolen,” she fumed, irritated with herself for allowing him to so easily mislead her, when her first instinct had been correct after all.

“An act of desperation, I assure you…”

“Just as _this_ was?” she exclaimed, extending her bruised forearm towards him, “I have to wonder what happens to people who truly stand in your way, Mr. Harrison.”

Unruffled by her outburst, Harrison closed his eyes a moment and breathed deeply.  When he looked to her again, he was the picture of patience.  “I swear I have no desire to cause you—or anyone else—harm.  But you must understand, I am in dire straits, and as we linger here, my family is in imminent danger.”  He paused, weighing the effect of his words upon her, “Such a thing will make a man act beyond the measures of polite society.”

Seraphina narrowed her eyes, skeptical at his revelation of a family, but suspending her disbelief for the moment, “How then? What sort of danger is your family in?”

“Their very lives hang in the balance, threatened by a powerful man who seeks to manipulate me into working for him.”  Embers of hate flashed in his eyes, and he gave a bitter huff as he added, “Forcing me to work toward the most nefarious of purposes.”

Sera shook her head, clearing the double vision that had crept up on her; she cupped a trembling hand against her forehead, which came away slick with perspiration.  It was the heat getting to her, obviously.  She felt parched, although the thought of putting anything into her roiling stomach left her feeling even more nauseous, and her head was pounding, in time with her racing pulse, it seemed. She needed to get out of the goddamn heat before she collapsed from heat exhaustion—while the man before her looked completely unaffected by the desert climate.  “And…and I suppose this mysterious man is so powerful that you can’t seek help from the proper authorities?”  She leaned all her weight against the car door, wondering if Harrison noticed her current state of distress.

If he did, he gave no sign of it, nodding in answer to her question, a mix of pain and rancor coloring his strikingly handsome features, “So powerful that it would be in your best interest to remain ignorant as to his identity and position.”  Anticipating her next question, he warned her, “Do not ask--for I cannot reveal that information.”

Though stymied by such vague replies—and sensing a much more complicated tale behind what he admitted to--Sera read blunt honesty in his voice and body language.  And the fact that he had willingly returned her key, while asking for--rather than demanding--her help, seemed a testament to some underlying truth.  She realized she likely had only a few more minutes before she passed out, leaving her completely at Harrison’s mercy.

“Then how…how did you end up here, stranded in the Mojave,” she asked, panting softly, “How does any of this help your family?”

He was watching her closely now, so he had to be aware she was failing fast.  “That is a rather long and complicated tale, Seraphina.”  His voice had again taken on a lulling pitch, “One which I believe would outlast your capacity to remain on your feet.”

She held onto window frame, white-knuckled but determined to remain upright long enough to learn his hidden agenda.  “I’m fine…I…I’m just a little light headed…” 

“Step aside now, Seraphina.”  Again that tone of a man whose orders were obeyed without question.  “You have little time left before you lose consciousness.”  His hand was already on the door handle, and she stumbled back in time for him to swing the door open. 

Then he was looming over her, a tall, cooling shadow, reaching out his hand to brace her.  His touch this time, while firm, was surprisingly gentle.  “We need to get you out of this heat.”  Unexpected concern in his stunning eyes, calm concern in his voice.  The man was a beautiful enigma.

“No…please…tell me.  If…if you want me to trust you…” Her world was darkening around the edges, narrowing so that only his face remained in her field of vision.  “If you want me to help…I need…I need to know…”  Seraphina felt herself going, and as her consciousness fled, so did her fear and curiosity; only one need remained.  She sobbed against him as he scooped her up into his arms, “But you promised…you promised not to hurt me again…”  Her eyes fluttered shut as she slipped away from awareness.

Harrison strode swiftly towards her hovercraft, cradling her as softly as he could, knowing that the cool, dark interior was the quickest remedy at hand for what ailed her.  “Oh, pretty little Seraphina,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her dampened hair, inhaling the sweet scent of jasmine and honey, relishing how light and easy she felt in his arms, “Hurting you is the least likely thing I have planned.”

 

_**(to be continued)** _

 


	3. Chapter 3

As she came back to consciousness, Sera felt lost in a haze of uncertainty; images and feelings that she couldn’t quite distinguish as parts of dreams or fragments of memories.  A handsome dark-haired man, his perfect chiseled features accented with a banked fury that both frightened and fascinated her.  A princely brow that could turn to thunder in a heartbeat, but a voice of silk that belonged in her most secret, bedroom fantasies.  Confusion and a sense of helplessness, and then a feeling of safety despite the fear that had fluttered in her chest like a hopelessly trapped bird.

The stranger had caught her up as she fell, for she remembered the strength of his arms and the firmness of his chest—and her own plea that he not harm her, even as she gave in to his surprisingly gentle embrace.  Sera sensed that he still hovered close by, but her lids felt too heavy to confirm it; yet she felt remarkably calm, comforted by the low purr of the engine and the blessedly cool air caressing her skin.  She sensed no movement, and reckoned they remained where she had pulled her hovercraft aside when she had spotted Harrison and his stalled Mustang.

Finally, she managed to open her eyes, and discovered he had not activated any interior lighting, perhaps anticipating she might be light sensitive.  The tinted windows kept the sunlight well filtered, so Sera could not judge by the quality of light just how long she’d been unconscious.  The roots of her hair remained damp though, so she guessed it hadn’t been all that long.  Her head throbbed vaguely—surely just the aftermath of her reaction to the heat—and her mouth and throat were still dry, but she had several bottles of water tucked inside the built-in cooler, and once she found her voice, she would ask him to open one for her.

She lay in the partially reclined passenger seat, with Harrison watching her intently, “How…how long,” she croaked, unable to finish her question for the dryness of her throat. She made as though to sit up, but a wave of weakness washed over her, so that the hand he placed on her shoulder to restrain her was unnecessary.

“Remain still,” he advised her, his smooth voice as soothing as she remembered, “attempting to rise too quickly may leave you feeling faint again.”  Harrison placed a cold bottle of water in her hand, “You are elevated enough to drink this without having to move—but drink it slowly, or you may be sick.”  Seraphina found herself obeying him without question, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to follow the commands of her would-be abductor.

The water was a little bit of heaven on her tongue, but Sera fought the urge to gulp it down.  _Slow and easy_ , she told herself, _and gather your strength for what’s to come_.  Her grogginess was passing, but it might be best if she let him believe she was weaker than she felt. “You…you could have just left me there,” she told him, before taking a deeper draught of water, “Why didn’t you just leave me?”

The left side of his mouth quirked into the slightest of smiles, as though her question amused him.  “Do I strike you as a man cold-hearted enough to abandon you to such a grim fate?”

Though Sera could imagine all sorts of potential danger he might represent, his mixed signals had her perplexed.  Looking askance, she shrugged her reply, “I don’t…I don’t know what to think.”

Without warning or even asking permission, he laid a palm against her forehead, the tips of his fingers threaded into her hair. “You’ve cooled significantly, which is good.”  His touch was so confident, the dark silk of his voice relaxing her and making her want to trust him against her better judgement.  Harrison brushed his fingers along her cheek, seeking the pulse point on her neck.  “Much better,” he murmured, allowing them to linger over the steady throb of her carotid artery, “Your heart was racing earlier, but it has slowed to nearly normal.  Most fortunate for you, Seraphina.” He spared her a trace of an enigmatic smile, concluding, “You will likely be susceptible to any heat extremes in the coming hours, but I believe you have recovered sufficiently for us to continue on our way.”

“Us?” she repeated, shaking off the stupor she had fallen into; how easily he had lulled her into thinking she was safe in his company!  His kind, solicitous tone, and gentle, ministering hands could not allay the fact that she was basically his prisoner.  Defiant even in her weakened state, Sera had to challenge him, “And just where are _we_ going?”

Harrison’s eyes widened as he took the measure of her will, while he calculated what information he could safely reveal.  His answer was as evasive as any he had given thus far.  “I shall detain you only so long as is necessary,” he informed her, “And I swear—I only impose myself upon you for the most compelling of reasons.”  

Sera swallowed a bitter retort, knowing it would be of no use to protest whatever he had planned; playing along for now might eventually give her the chance to save herself from the dark fate that likely lay at the end of her usefulness to him.  “Alright then, the sooner we get going, the sooner I can get back to the most compelling reasons of _my_ life.”  She held his gaze without flinching, “That is if you are actually a man of your word, Mr. Harrison.”

“It’s John, please.”  The growing warmth in his exotic eyes seemed to attest to his sincerity, “And despite appearances, I will do my utmost to see you safely returned to your own life—once I have obtained the resources I need to see to the safety of _my_ people.

* * *

 

Harrison had insisted Sera pilot her hovercraft, once she felt recovered enough to do so.  His unexpected proffer of trust could not fully alleviate her concerns, but it left Sera hoping she might walk away from their unfortunate encounter more or less unscathed.  At least it gave her some feeling of meager control over her own destiny.

“So, where to,” she asked him, once settled in the driver’s seat and watching him fasten the passenger safety harness.

He faced forward, eyeing the horizon, “The nearest bit of civilization, to begin with…” He turned to face her, “…unless you have any other viable recommendations?”

“You’re serious?”  Sera glanced at him quickly, then looked back out through the windshield.  “It might help if I knew what you plan to do when we get to wherever we’re going.”

“In brief?” When she nodded, Harrison continued, “I need to secure a vehicle capable of intercontinental flight.”

“Is that all?  Piece of cake, then,” she exclaimed, her tone thick with sarcasm, “I’m guessing you’re going to steal that as well.  I really hadn’t planned on becoming an accessory to crime when I left home this morning.”

Harrison offered no defense against her pointed supposition; apparently, she’d hit the mark--so perhaps the man was capable of feeling some measure of guilt after all.  If that was the case, she might have better hope of negotiating her way out of this predicament.  Sera snuck another look his way.  He appeared to be deep in thought, but soon broke his silence.

“You cannot possibly imagine the crimes of those who hold my people hostage.” His voice was low and even, tinged with anger restrained, “Nor the crimes that they’ve committed in their efforts to press me into their service.  What I do now, I do from necessity; I do for the lives of dozens of men and women who placed their trust in me long ago.  I will not abandon them...” 

The steel in his tone forced Sera to a silence of her own, as she scanned the road and the far off vistas ahead of them.  How would it feel, she wondered, to be on the receiving end of such loyalty, such determination.  How might it be to be among the circle of those he valued enough to hazard his freedom, and perhaps his very life, for?

“…the rescue of my family remains my greatest imperative.  Criminal or not, I will do whatever it takes to ensure their safety and well-being.”  The grim set of his profile echoed the resolve of his statement.

“I…I’m sorry, John,” Sera murmured, surprising herself with an empathetic softness which the sincerity of his tone and statements had evoked, “I shouldn’t have been so flippant.”

“You could not have known the dire circumstances which have led me to such acts of desperation.”  He leaned closer, voice grown even lower and somehow forgiving for her earlier pert reply, “And I would not beg your assistance now but that fortune brought you here.”   

Sera breathed deeply, knowing her conscience wouldn’t allow her to simply turn away; but she needed more before she chanced crossing any legal lines.  “Alright…alright, John.  I can at least take you where you need to go.  But you have to be honest with me—because I _can’t_ be a part of anything that would physically harm anyone.  You have to understand that going in.”

“Of course, Seraphina,” he nodded, the faintest of smile lines bracketing his mouth, “I would not ask you to do anything you find morally repugnant.”

“And I need to know exactly how this all came about,” she insisted, “I realize there may be some things you cannot share…”

“Things that it would be much wiser if you didn’t know…” he assured her.

“Yes. Yes, I understand that.”  Sera studied his face, those fine, handsome features that could easily make a woman look past other flaws--on first acquaintance, anyway.  “But you’ll tell me what you can.  Why this powerful man needs your skills.  How he was able to take your family hostage.”  She braced herself, expecting he would deny what she was asking, “And what you plan to do to save them.”

“I swear to you—I will tell you everything you _need_ to know.  But you must accept my silence when your questions go deeper than I may safely reveal.”

Seraphina nodded, praying she had not just made a bargain with the devil himself—who, as she’d been taught in childhood, had the power to assume a pleasing form.  She turned her attention fully back to the road, considering where they might go to find the aircraft he needed, wondering exactly how he expected to “obtain” one.  That question would have to wait; Sera figured he would avoid answering directly, so for now it would be best that she just concentrate on the drive ahead.

The pleasant thrum of his deep voice interrupted her reverie.  “It seems I judged you rightly, Seraphina.  You truly are as kind as you are lovely.” 

She thought to give a cynical reply; to tell him he needn’t lay the flattery on so thickly, as she was _wiser_ than he had apparently judged her.  But when he cupped a hand upon her bare shoulder, such a sharp response died upon her tongue—for the warmth of his skin and the strength of even that light touch laid innocently upon her own, was enough to rouse an unexpected longing in her.  Recognizing her own foolishness, and that despite the sometime dangerous, mercurial nature Harrison had shown, she was quite drawn to him.   Knowing there was trouble here, Sera watched him sidelong nevertheless, pondering the small pleased smile he wore at his little victory over her, noting again the intelligence of his extraordinary eyes, the remarkable contours of his face, the delicious fullness of his lips—and wondering what it might be like to be _his_ woman; to have that all that strength and cunning and relentless determination, and—heaven help her—that staunch protectiveness, bent in _her_ direction.  Suddenly, she was acutely aware of the gauzy material of the sleeveless blouse she wore, wishing he had noticed the healthy swell of her breasts beneath, half-hoping he had marked the involuntary flush that colored the skin of her neck and chest—and picturing the sort of victorious smile he would give her if he had.   

 

_**(to be continued)** _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Is this chapter filled with tropes? I honestly can't tell; I can only hope those reading it, enjoy it--as it had made me smile writing it, imaging the darkly wonderful John Harrison, and the woman who is being swept away far too easily for her own comfort level, into his dangerous world. If you still come back for more, Kind Reader, I'll suppose the cliches weren't too annoying. ;-) )


	4. Chapter 4

He had always been a man who seized his moments without remorse, ruthlessly when necessary, in order to achieve his objectives; he had studied human nature well over the years, and used his knowledge of individual and group patterns of behavior and weaknesses to formulate battle plans with deadly accuracy, insuring victory in his conquests.  But never had he factored in the random element of luck, being firm in his unshakable belief that _he_ forged his own fortunes by wit and patience and force of his indomitable will alone.

Yet despite his certainty that “lucky” providence was an illusion which only lesser men could afford to place any store by, circumstances occasionally delivered _exactly_ what he needed for his designs to succeed.  Such seemed to be the case when the trim little hovercraft had slowed, then stopped at the side of the lonely desert highway, only a few meters away from him and the antique Mustang he had stolen following his escape from Marcus’s secret facility on the outskirts of San Francisco.  When a slim, dark-haired woman emerged from the vehicle, Khan had quickly calculated his chances of success—made bleak by the failure of the Mustang--had increased exponentially.

She had approached him with a surprising show of confidence, regarding him casually from behind her sunglasses, but her posture and movements betrayed a hidden caution.  Smart enough to proceed with care, he surmised—for she left a safe distance between them as she addressed him--but surely she was curious as well, and even compassionate enough to offer aid in a situation that might catch her vulnerable.  Perhaps, he admitted to himself, fate could be surprisingly kind after all—and now, when he needed it the most.

Charm would be his method to begin with, and as he read her further, he would adjust his tactics to obtain what he needed.  Khan resolved to do his best not to harm her, although he realized that policy would be mitigated should she fail to cooperate.

And so he advanced her way, offering her his hand to shake, while wondering if that custom had become archaic in this time so far removed from his own.  Her flesh was warm, smooth, soft—reminding him how little softness he had witnessed since he’d been awakened from his centuries long sleep.  Marcus had isolated him from all but those sent to interrogate him; hard, cold-blooded men who performed their chores perfunctorily--until the time for the beatings came.  They seemed to grimly relish those inevitable duties. Powerless to defend himself, Khan had striven to suffer those indignations silently, hoping to deprive the brutes of at least some of their sick satisfaction.  In the end, though, if he didn’t pass out, he eventually cried out from the pain—but he had _never_ begged for mercy.

There were doctors too—well, medical men of sorts—to see to his broken bones and internal injuries, the nasty-looking welts, the horrible bruising, inflicted upon him.  Those men would exclaim their astonishment at his ability withstand the relentlessly brutal punishment and at his astoundingly rapid healing, clearly unaware of his genetic makeup.  Those doctors had surely turned their backs upon the Hippocratic Oath, be it from loyalty to Admiral Marcus and his cause, from lust for knowledge or power, or from one of the oldest persuasions in the world—greed.  Whatever their reasons, they were not the least on his list of those from whom he would exact his vengeance should the opportunity ever arise.

Ah, but she was lovely, this Seraphina, this woman of the 23rd century; the first that he had seen up close and spoken to.  Khan didn’t bother to wonder if she fit the standard of beauty of this new world, for her poise and casual grace seemed timeless—and to his mind, distinctly American.  Her lustrous fall of hair was nearly as dark as his own, and in defiance of her youthful appearance, was threaded through with generous streaks of silver that glistened in the sunlight.  Artifice?  He thought not; and unless feminine vanity had changed in the past three hundred years, it came naturally and she wore it proudly, emblematic of a nature that did not readily bow to social conventions.

Her voice was pleasant, merry—as though the world generally amused her—which made him smile despite his serious need; and when he managed to set her off kilter, it took on a surprised breathlessness that most men (of his time, anyway) would find appealing.

In short, Khan liked her immediately—an unfortunate complication that he could not allow to stand in the way of achieving his goals.

Once near enough to read her more subtle signals, he recognized that she was attracted to him; pupil dilation, rapid respiration, increased heart rate evidenced in the barely visible pulse in her neck (his eyes were far keener than an ordinary man’s, her skin thin and free of subcutaneous fat), a slight blush in her cheeks which could not be explained away as a flush from the desert heat.  Yes, he might take those things for heightened wariness or distress—but Seraphina struck him as rather fearless (until he gave her cause otherwise).  A supremely Alpha male, Khan was well aware of the effect his physical presence could have upon non-Augmented females.  It was as natural to him as the flow of rivers inexorably to the sea.

All the better, he had mused, to bend her to his will.  Testing that thought, Khan had leaned into her precious, personal space, to see just what she would do; she had been surprised when he crossed that unspoken barrier, but had not flinched or given way.  He liked that bit of quiet steel in her nature as well.

Taking her measure up close, Khan had also noted a familiar trace of scent; one he could not quite name, but which reminded him strongly of his youth.  Such a potential distraction from his course could not be allowed, no matter how curious--but he promised himself to revisit it later to answer the unexpected questions it raised at the back of his mind. 

* * *

 

Seraphina had been quicker to realize his cover story was a sham, resulting in him having to be rougher with her than he had planned.  The heat overtook her quickly after that—another complication—and as much as Khan chafed at the delay, there was no question:  he could not leave an innocent abandoned in dire such conditions.  Instead, he carried her to safety, to wait and watch over her, mulling over his options.

And that memorable scent.  Honey and jasmine.  Her hair was rich with it, and the closer he was to the source, the more it begged to be acknowledged.  It spoke to him of his days on the cusp of manhood; those long-past days when he had eagerly soaked up all the knowledge offered him by the many teachers and scientists, and the masters of combat and weaponry employed by his father to see to his education--and that of the dozens of other Augments who lived a protected life in their Madhya Pradesh compound.  His “father”, not father, but the chief architect of a new breed of men, who oversaw every aspect of the Augments lives, and had singled Noonien Singh out, at the age of seven, as the brightest, strongest, and most resilient of his group.  Once he had proven his worth, Noonien had been dubbed “the Khan”—the one who would lead the revolution to a brighter future for mankind.  He had defined himself by that appellation for more than half his life, and even in the bitter wake of the failed Eugenics Wars, he bore it with unbroken pride.

In the cool, dark of the hovercraft, he had watched as Seraphina came back to consciousness, shunting aside such indulgent and useless memories and, pondering instead, how best he could use her to achieve his ends, hoping he could keep his promise not to cause her harm.  Not only because she seemed both brave and kind—but also for that lingering perfume of honey and jasmine, which had unexpectedly left an uncharacteristic softness in his chest.

Then, debating with her as they drove, deciding what his—what _their_ —next step should be, his mind was hard at work examining the rudimentary plan that he had formed while she lay unconscious.  As she focused on the road ahead, he studied her in profile, appreciative of the fascinating play of light upon her features, Khan’s mouth went dry when the answer to the niggling question came to him at last.  _Honey…Jasmine…Inaaya_.

 

_**(to be continued)** _

 


	5. Chapter 5

“He is an ambitious man, and one who seeks council from no one, believing himself to be the sole arbiter of what is best for the safety and welfare of those within his very wide purview.”  Khan trained his eyes upon Seraphina’s profile as she concentrated on driving, and infused his tale with enough of the truth to convince her that his purpose was just.  “He blithely gambles with lives he finds of minimum value to his ends, certain that his vision realized justifies whatever cost _they_ pay.  Certain that his vision is the _only_ viable one.”

Sera remained silent, considering what he had finally revealed; the slight narrowing of her eyes, with her lips pressed together, betrayed a stubborn curiosity that would not allow his story to rest with such vague, simple answers.  He braced himself for follow-up questions.

She drew a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and posed her first, “And what was he was coercing you to do?  Something that might threaten those lives of ‘minimum value’?”

 _Such a tender heart_ , he mused; first, stopping to help a stranger stranded roadside, and now showing an immediate concern for potential, albeit unknown, casualties.  This, then, was the best way for him to win his way with her.  “Exactly so, Seraphina,” he replied, wagering it was safe enough to risk a bit more honesty, “He required me to design and implement weaponry advanced well beyond current technologies—which he planned to use to increase not only his own power and influence, but that of his organization.”

“But couldn’t you just go public with this information—or at least to law enforcement?  This…this evil…” she paused in search of a word fit for the man he had described, “…mastermind--he can’t just be above the law…could he?”

Khan bit back a brittle reply, the grim memories of those physical and psychological interrogations still painfully fresh.  “Ah,” he retorted, “But _he_ is a law unto himself--and his enemies have a curious habit of meeting with misfortune.”

She nodded, chewing her lip and lost in thought. “And there’s your family to consider, of course,” Sera concluded, softening just as he’d expected she would.

He let a trace of true sorrow color his quiet response, “Yes…my family.”

Seraphina’s eyes flicked his way for only a moment, “Your family,” she murmured, “Your wife and…and your children.  I can understand your desperation, John.”

 _All the better_ , he thought, registering her small degree of disappointment, and readily putting it to rest, “I have no wife or children, Seraphina.”  More truth than lie, and meant to encourage her interest in him.  “Extended family, both by blood and years of service together.  And as dear to me as my own life.”

She wore a small smile at that, perhaps pleased to learn he was not so entangled--and lovely enough to give him pause about his callous plan to use her attraction to him as the lever to achieve his goal.  Knowing he could not afford such sentimentality interfering with his plans, Khan quickly dismissed that thought.  “Before my departure from my…forced employment,” he told her, careful to reveal only vital facts, “I was able to ascertain that my people are being held at a secret facility in London.”

“And you’re just going to walk in there and rescue them single-handedly,” she scoffed.

Her skepticism was natural—and no surprise to Khan.  “If need be, yes,” he told her, “I have succeeded in the face of far more challenging odds before.”

The hovercraft decelerated as Sera turned to focus on him fully, “There it is again.”  Khan offered no retort, waiting for her to continue.  “That warning of the rogue beneath your cool veneer.”  Despite her stern expression, he read a flash of mirth in her soft, grey eyes, “Of the sort of man prone to…to…misadventure.” She readdressed her attention to the blacktop before them, adding to herself, “ _Serious_ misadventure.”

Khan smiled wolfishly, unable to keep from replying, “Seraphina, you pulled to the side of a deserted highway to offer aid to a strange man.  Altruistic, I’ve no doubt—but I wonder if some small part of you wasn’t seeking misadventure after all.”

Her eyes widened a moment, and a pretty blush colored her cheek—but she spoke not a word, and only tightened her grip on the guidance control; surely unable, he concluded, to effectively deny the truth of his assertion.  Satisfied he had hit the mark successfully, Khan settled back in his seat, mulling over the limited options left him, to achieve goal.

* * *

“Slow the vehicle now, Seraphina,” he commanded, startling her out of the quiet that had lingered between them for dozens of miles.

“What? Why?”  Though she seemed perplexed by his sudden demand, Khan noted that she had immediately obeyed.  “Is something wrong?”

“Yes.”  He removed his safety harness and leaned as close to the windshield as he could, searching the horizon.  There it was again—a flash of light, well in the distance: sunlight dancing off of metal and glass.

“John?  What is it?”  Her voice had faded from his immediate awareness as Khan strove to identify the mystery ahead, but his body read the hovercraft’s loss of speed.  Too much loss, he reckoned.

“If you value your life, reduce our speed no further, Seraphina.”  He spared not a second to glance her way, fully trusting in her compliance, while quickly calculating the distance between them and the mystery flash.  The source and meaning of what lay ahead was inescapable.  “Roadblock,” he growled.  Grimly. Angrily.  How in hell could they have located him so swiftly?

“John,” she repeated, her voice breaking with distress, “How…how can you know this?”

Khan held up a hand to silence her, considering their bleak prospects.  Even at this speed, he had little time to formulate an effective plan.  “Trust me, it’s there and waiting for us.  For me.  And I see no possible way to elude it.”

“Can’t we just turn back?”  Her voice was high and breathy, signaling her growing apprehension.

“Impossible as it seems, they have ascertained my movements—and certainly my intent,” he told her; in this, at least, full disclosure would be necessary to breach hers fears enough to gain her willing cooperation.  “I have no doubt we are pursued from behind as well.  The only way through this roadblock, is _through_.” 

Seraphina panted hard, striving to master a sense of panic, “But this could be a good thing, couldn’t it?  You tell the police your story.  Once it’s public knowledge, your people will be safe.”

“No,” he replied, gently, but needing her to face the inevitable, “These men will be private security forces.”  And then he added, to galvanize her, “They will be efficient and implacable, and will not allow any loose ends.  Your wellbeing is more at hazard than mine.”

Struck mute, Seraphina blinked several times, processing this information while holding onto the controller, white-knuckled.  Khan, moved beyond his expectations, laid his hand upon hers—feeling the tension coiled there—and offered her a surprising truth, “I’m so sorry, Seraphina. It was never my intent to invite a threat to your life.”

When she turned to him, he saw anger flare in her eyes, contending with the fear he could almost taste.  _Let the anger win_ , he reflected, _let it fuel_ _your will to survive_.

As though reading his thoughts, she drew herself straight, her sweet features growing grim and haughty.  “Alright, John Harrison…”  His false name sounded like ice on her tongue.  “If that’s even your real name…I’ve no choice now, have I?”  Seraphina flung his hand away, his touch no comfort in her extremity.  “Tell me then…tell me what to do.”

* * *

Higgins clucked his tongue, then handed the binoculars back to Petrocelli--though neither man would have any further need of them.  “Later than expected, but there he is.”  He took a long swallow from his water bottle, waiting for the younger man to acknowledge his assessment.

Petrocelli grunted, lifting the spyglasses to his eyes all the same, “About damn time.  Marcus isn’t paying anywhere near enough to make waiting in this heat bearable.”

“Quit your bitchin’,” the other man snorted, “We’ll jug this one, and be back in the city in a couple of hours, tops.  You can bear it fine ‘til then.”

Petrocelli rolled his eyes, but didn’t bother with responding; he was tired and irritated, and sweating profusely, from his head on down to his balls--and though he generally enjoyed assignments with Higgins, the heat had turned him into a bitch.  That, and the fact that the older man seemed barely affected by the brutal climate.

“Roughing him up is fine, but he’ll fight like a devil, so be ready,” Higgins prudently reminded his partner, “And if we bring him back dead, we might end up dead men ourselves.”  That was no exaggeration; Marcus’s pet project relied on the unusual specimen that had slipped his bonds the day before.  He’d taken down several good men in the process; two with multiple broken bones, one with a concussion—and one barely hanging on to life support as the doctors waited anxiously for his family to arrive for their tearful farewells.  Of course, they’d never know just how his life-ending “accident” had actually happened…

Higgins tapped his arm, calling his attention back to the job at hand.  “What the fuck,” the older man spat out, “What’s his game?”

Petrocelli watched as the small hovercraft wove erratically back & forth across the faded lane lines, wondering if it was headed for a crash into their own, sturdier vehicle, or into the steel barriers they’d set up for several feet into the sand on either side of the road--and if Harrison intended _that_ as a last ditch effort to escape the net awaiting him.

Both men took several steps back, in case that _was_ Harrison’s intent, readying their phasers for action if needed.  The hovercraft veered to the right, touched down roughly, and came to rest partly on the desert soil and partly on the macadam.  Tense with expectation, they waited to see if Harrison would exit the vehicle.

Instead, the slender figure of a woman emerged, and within moments she was stumbling towards them, calling out for help.  Higgins raised his phaser, ordering her to stop, “That’s far enough, ma’am.  Hands up, and no one will get hurt.”

She looked confused a moment, then turned back to check the open hatch she’d left behind.  “No, no, please,” she shouted, “You don’t understand.  He was going to hurt me…I think…I think he was planning to kill me.”  She had begun to sob as she moved a few steps closer to them.

“No!”  Higgins waved his phaser at her, “Stop where you are or I will use this.”

She raised her hands at last ( _thank god_ , Petrocelli thought, ‘ _cuz he wasn’t shitting when he made that threat_ ), but she continued to implore them, “Please…he hit his head on the dashboard when we struggled over the controls, but I don’t know how long he’ll be out for.  Please, you have to help me.”  She began to cry in earnest, and even at a distance, they could see that she was shaking badly.  “He…he knew you’d be waiting for him, and…and…oh god,” she stuttered, her endurance appearing to be failing, “I think…I think he was planning to kill you too.”  With that, she stumbled, landing on her knee and skinning it; with great effort she rose again, blood oozing down her leg.  “You don’t know him,” she asserted, wide-eyed and flushed from the heat and her fear, “but he could do it too.  Without even breaking a sweat.”  She turned her tear-stained face towards Petrocelli, perhaps seeing he was the more sympathetic of the two, “Help me, please.  Before it’s too late for all of us.”


	6. Chapter 6

Higgins observed Seraphina carefully before speaking, low enough for Petrocelli’s ears alone, “Goddammit. We could’ve done without _this_ complication.”  He chewed on his lower lip, recalculating their plan of attack.  “Alright, we’re gonna let her approach.  Once she’s well clear of the hovercraft, I’ll check it out.  You keep an eye on her when I do.”

Petrocelli nodded, satisfied with the role he’d been given.  Keeping his phaser trained upon her, Higgins motioned her forward, “Okay, ma’am.  Come on closer, but no sudden moves.

She bowed her head a moment and ran a shaking hand through her hair, then looked their way, and nodded her assent.  Raising both of her hands again, she approached them cautiously.

Up close, Petrocelli noted signs that she had been in a struggle of sorts; she bore a darkening bruise in the distinctive shape of fingers on her left forearm, her shoulder-length hair looked mussed and tangled, and her blouse was half untucked.  “Please,” she pleaded, looking back and forth between the two men, “You can’t imagine what he’s capable of.”  Her breath caught, and she swayed, but managed to stay on her feet this time, mutely awaiting their response.

“Alright, lady,” Higgins intoned, “We’ve got this.”  He considered her a moment, certainly accessing any threat she might represent.  Convinced that her weakened, frightened state was genuine, he lowered his phaser a bit.  “Are you sure he’s actually out cold?  He’s one tough s.o.b., you know.”

She shook her head, “He _has_ to be—there’s no way I’d be standing here if he was wasn’t.  I just…” she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back further tears, “I just got lucky, I suppose.” 

Watching her strength begin to fade again, and concerned that she might finally crumple altogether onto the scorching blacktop, Petrocelli stepped closer, offering a steady arm for her to lean upon.  “It’s okay, miss.  You’re safe now.”  Her expression softened from desperate fright into one of pretty gratitude, disarming him momentarily—until Higgins barked out his name.

“Petrocelli.  Might I have a word with you?”  He crossed to the older man, whose scowl warned of a dressing down to come.  “I need you to focus, man--not let tears and a pretty face distract you.”  Higgins grew grim, “She’s a loose end, you know…”

“She’s just a civilian,” Petrocelli protested, but Higgins cut him off.

“You know damn well that _doesn’t_ matter to Markus.  Like as not, she’s gonna end the day,” Higgins took a moment, searching for a palatable euphemism, “…neutralized.”  Realizing his partner’s misgivings remained, he added, “Best not to dwell on it.”

Petrocelli quickly glanced back at Seraphina; she was staring at the ditched hovercraft, fidgeting restlessly, while seeming unaware that the two men were discussing her fate.  “Look at her, Higgins. Just look—she has _no_ idea the shitstorm she’s stepped into.  Can’t we just…I dunno…can’t we just let her go?”

Higgins huffed in frustration; he’d be recommending that Petrocelli be assigned less crucial duties once this job was done—deciding in the meantime, a lie was the quickest way to allay his untimely reservations.  “Look, we’ll bring her along, they’ll question her.  If Harrison has kept his mouth shut, chances are they’ll let her go with an…inducement…to forget the past twenty-four hours.  Now can we get back to work?”

“Yeah,” Petrocelli nodded, looking relieved, “Yup. So, what’s next?”

* * *

 

Seraphina watched quietly as the elder member of the security detail approached the vehicle she’d abandoned.  He was obviously the tougher of the two men, and she was thanking her good fortune that he was the one checking on Harrison, leaving the rather callow one behind for her to contend with.  She knew what she’d have to do to walk away from the nearly impossible predicament she’d landed in ( _out of my own foolish_ _curiosity and misplaced good intentions_ , she would forever remind herself-- _if_ she survived this), and she needed these few remaining minutes to psyche herself up to pull off her part in Harrison’s hastily drawn plan. 

Simply enough, his strategy had been to “divide and conquer”, and things had fallen surprisingly into place.  Seraphina had insisted that no true harm come to the men they’d have to face down; stubborn and unwavering, she had told Harrison she would take no part in deadly violence, nor would she stand by docilely and allow him to wreak such damage.  Her obstinacy had clearly irritated him, so that the delicious watered silk of his voice had become a rough growl as he issued his final instructions to her.  Yet it had felt like a little victory over him, and despite the danger that stood to greet her, she’d been proud and pleased with herself—reflecting as she waited, that a cool look of respect and appreciation ( _for her, imagine that!_ ) had crossed his handsome features.

She inched nearer to the man left behind to guard her--whose focus remained almost entirely on his partner’s progress—until she was as close as his shadow.  It should be any moment now, and she was as ready as she would ever be, to carry out her crucial task.

Higgins stood before the open, driver’s side hatch, phaser at the ready, and then ducked his head inside.  _Here it comes_ , she thought, her stomach clenching with nerves; _heaven help me, I’m in it for real now_ …

They heard Higgins shouting, followed by the sound of phaser fire.  Sera whimpered and grabbed Petrocelli’s arm.  “This isn’t going to end well.  We need to get out of here fast.  Please.”

And as she’d hoped, he turned to face her, probably meaning to calm her or have her step back to a safer position.  “Please,” she repeated, “Please know I’m…”

His eyes had locked on hers, and a flicker of doubt had her hesitating—but for only a moment.  “I’m really so sorry about this,” she told him.  He looked puzzled, but there was no time left for further reaction.  Sera grasped his upper arms and drove her right knee into Petrocelli’s groin with as much force as she could muster.  With all the force a woman fighting for her life _needed_ to muster.

He grunted, seeming to dispel all the air from his lungs, and immediately doubled over in agony, and then fell to his knees.  “You…stupid…bitch,” he managed, through gritted teeth, looking up at her. 

Sera gaped at him, marveling that it had only taken the one blow to undo him.  “I’m so sorry,” she muttered, “but you guys haven’t given me any other choice.”  She moved a step closer, then levelled a kick at his phaser hand.  He yelped in pain and dropped it; Sera sent it skittering out of his reach with another well aimed kick.

With Petrocelli down, she dared a look down the road to see how Harrison was faring.  No surprise there—she was just in time to watch the tail end of Higgins losing the battle.  She said a silent prayer that her perplexing companion had abided by the condition she had laid upon him to minimize the force he used to dispatch their pursuers.  Even at a distance, he looked no worse for wear; he must have evaded that phaser fire with his lightning fast reflexes--or Higgins had been a lousy shot.  Harrison reached over the unconscious man to retrieve his fallen phaser, and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, at the small of his back.  He sprinted towards her.  Behind her, Petrocelli moaned weakly.

Inspecting the scene, Harrison nodded his approval of her handiwork.  “So--the lovely desert rose has thorns after all.”  He moved well into her personal space once again, close enough for the warmth of his breath to tickle her skin, as he told her, “Handily dispatched, Seraphina.” 

Though somber in manner and speech, Sera read an unexpected mirth in his striking eyes, and in the faint smile lines that bracketed his all too tempting mouth.  “Yes,” she told him, aiming to sound cool, even as she warmed from his compliments, “That’s something you best remember about me, John Harrison.”

He considered her quietly, his eyes widening at her bold assertion.  “Indeed.  It seems I would be a fool to forget it.”

His face hovered kissably close above her; Sera felt caught in the intensity of his molten gaze, mesmerized by the luscious natural pout of his lips (wondering helplessly, how they might feel pressed against her own), and flattered beyond reason by his generous regard.  _I’m in trouble here_ , she thought; _this man is dangerous_ \-- _and any foolishness is all_ mine.  She fell back from him a step or two, hoping he had not read the folly on her mind.

His eyes darted towards the space behind her, and in a flash he had drawn the phaser at his back, shunting her aside to fire a clean shot at Petrocelli--who had struggled to his knees, but soon lay face down on the hardtop.

“What the hell,” she cried out, equally surprised and offended by Harrison’s sudden action, “You didn’t _have_ to do that.  He wasn’t any threat.”      

Ignoring her, Harrison brushed by Sera, bending over to pick up the jackknife that had fallen from Petrocelli’s hand.  The blade was short but nasty looking, and had likely been intended to hurt her.  Harrison folded the blade into its casing and pocketed it, before turning her way.  “This may come in handy,” he informed her.  He turned the unconscious man onto his back and began rummaged through his pockets.  “We’ll need whatever hard currency we can find.  If they’ve identified your hovercraft, our movements can be traced through any use of your credits.”

Sera shook her head, wanting to clear the confusion about what just happened.  “This is crazy,” she muttered, “And I must be crazy to let you manipulate me into helping you.”

Harrison straightened, implacable in answer, “ _You_ determined your own fate, Seraphina, when you stopped to help me.  And your innocence will be no protection against those who pursue me.”

She bowed her head, sighing hard in regret and resignation.  “Right. No good deed goes unpunished.  I never understood before now, how true that statement could be.” 

Returning to her, he laid a hand along her cheek and raised her face to his.  Though her skin sparked at his touch, her heart remained chilled.  “The only remedy I can offer is flight,” he told her patiently, “And it will be far safer for you to remain in my company, than flee on your own.  We _must_ continue our course.  Swiftly now, as more than these men lie ahead and behind us.”

Sniffling back the despair that threatened to overwhelm her, Seraphina nodded, and allowed him to lead her along the inevitable.

* * *

 

Despite their need for speed, Sera had insisted that Harrison leave the unconscious men in the cool of their hovercraft.  He had grumbled about the waste of valuable time, but she would not give in; and so—after first rifling through Higgins’ pockets, and then his vehicle, for what else might be of use to them (including the jackets the men had stashed in the rear seat)—Harrison had carried the man, with the same ease of a child clutching a ragdoll, to rest him beside Petrocelli, out of peril from the desert heat.

Eager to be on their way, Harrison jogged back to Sera’s hovercraft, taking the driver’s seat.  She didn’t even try to match his pace, while her mind was busy trying to work out how this near disaster would affect his plan—and how she might be of actual use to him, beyond that of a hostage  The reality of the danger he had dragged her into was inescapable.  Yet threaded through the fear, Sera felt a sort of thrill at the unknown adventure that lay ahead—and a growing attraction to this enigmatic man, so undeniable that she felt like a satellite caught in his orbit.

“You did well back there,” he observed, interrupting her musings, as she took her place in the passenger seat.

“Huh?” 

“You did well—I couldn’t have asked for better.”  His hand on the control was light and steady as he accelerated the craft.  Harrison turned to her, warmly amused, “And it certainly agrees with you…”

“Please…please don’t…” she contended, trying to deny where his compliments were heading, “You probably saved my life back there, when he drew that knife.  So you honestly don’t have to flatter me, John. I know you need my cooperation, and I can’t turn back now, even if you allowed it.  Let’s just get this over with.  Please.”

“No flattery intended, pretty Seraphina,” he chuckled, “Only a statement of fact.  The color in your cheeks, the gleam in your eyes, all in the midst of a most dire situation—very becoming. And as though some part of you enjoyed playing your part.”

Unnerved by his frankness, yet secretly pleased, Sera stared at him, “This isn’t some game to me, you know…”

“Nor to me, I assure you.”  He narrowed his eyes--his fascinating, other-worldly, blue-green eyes--that dared her at every turn to defy his expectations, “This is life and death to more than just you and I.  Please keep that in mind as we proceed.”  Harrison paused, measuring her reaction and then added, “There’s a strength in you I very much need. A thirst for life that rises when danger threatens.”  His eyes seemed to rake across Sera’s skin, making her feel pleasantly… _exposed_ …once again.  “And—I think--a bit of a rogue,” he concluded, “ready to fight for survival when your back’s against the wall.”

Sera turned to watch the arid landscape pass outside the window; now, more than ever since their ill-fated meeting, she _had_ to keep her wits about her.  Sincere or not in his assessment—and she honestly couldn’t tell which—Harrison was fast steering her in directions she would never rationally choose for herself.  She needed to apply the brakes now, before she permanently lost her way back to her comfortable reality—and before she allowed his charm, his confidence, his magnetism, to goad her into choices she would forever regret.

“John,” she said, resolved and ready to fight for survival just as he’d described, “I think there’s a way you can reach your family—much sooner and far more safely--than the plan you have in mind.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the longest chapter I've written for any of my fictions, but hopefully you will find it worth the reading. There was just so much that needed to happen before these two embark on the next stage of their journey, that I couldn't end it prematurely. Please do let me know, Kind Reader, if it worked for you...and if it has been worth the wait!

Khan shrugged, willing to listen, but nearly certain that whatever Seraphina would suggest, he had already considered it and discarded it as unfeasible.  He owed her that courtesy, at the least.  “What, exactly, do you propose?”

She drew a deep breath before speaking, “Well—the transporter system, of course; isn’t it obvious?  The network can take you just about anywhere in the world.  So we find a small town, well off the radar of the men pursuing you.  It shouldn’t be too difficult; I’ve traveled this route loads of time for gigs, so I know there’s a least a dozen little places still scattered along this highway.”

He glanced at her a moment, noting that her widened eyes gleamed with optimism--leaving him loathe to crush her small and fragile hope.  He would have to, eventually, but for the moment he would let her have her say.

“They _can’t_ have eyes everywhere, right?  By nightfall, we can find an unattended transporter station--a lot of these podunk, backroads towns don’t staff them continuously; most of their traffic are day tourists looking for an authentic taste of the old American west…”

“Seraphina…” Khan gently interjected, bracing himself to disappoint her.

Seeming to ignore him, she rolled on, speaking more quickly--although she likely registered the quiet note of caution in his voice.  “Of course, you couldn’t transport into the city center, but by leaving here at night, and arriving there before dawn, you could aim for just outside the city.”  She laid her hand on his arm, and he knew without looking that she was searching the set of his profile for any sign that the plan she offered was practical.  “That _has_ to be your best chance.”  Such an earnest declaration, and then silent expectation as Seraphina waited on his reply.  When he said nothing, her voice took on an edge of desperation, “Don’t you see it, John?  Please…please tell me this could work.”

Khan sighed heavily, wishing it could--as much for himself and his people, as for the kind-hearted woman beside him.  “I’m afraid not, Seraphina.  That solution was one of the first that occurred to me—and it would be ideal, if not for the fact that system wide protocols search for certain DNA markers,” he explained,  “Specifically, those of criminals…”

“Criminals,” she interjected, “At last the truth comes out.  Like I didn’t suspect it already.” Under her breath, she swore out her frustration.

Surprised, he might’ve laughed at her uncharacteristically colorful language, if not for the immediacy of their situation.  Instead, he sought to assuage her, “With the exceptions of the theft of that Mustang, and incapacitating several of my captors on guard duty…”

“… _and_ those two men we left unconscious back there,” she reminded him tartly.

“ _And_ our would-be assailants,” he schooled her, “With those exceptions, I have committed no crime in this time and place.”

“A criminal _past_ , then.  Why be so particular about it?”

His patience wearing thin, Khan answered tersely, “Irrelevant, and too far in the past to be of any significance here and now.”

She huffed and leaned back against the headrest, “Oh my, but you do give yourself a lot of latitude—but then, I should have realized that ordinary rules don’t apply to _you_.”

His voice grew low and dark, “Such flippancy does not become you, Seraphina.  Nor does it aid in resolving _our_ predicament.”

She rolled her head to stare out the passenger side window, silently conceding his point.

“Whatever you—or this world—consider me to be, I have compelling reasons for everything I’ve done.  I will not belabor those facts.”  Khan continued, stern and even-toned, “For our purposes, let us acknowledge that the man who imprisoned me—having both the influence and resources--will have seen to it that my DNA would be included in any search parameters.  Upon detection of the genetic markers of _any_ fugitive from justice, the transporter system is programed to divert them from their intended destination and send them directly to regional holding facilities to await extradition.  This is an automatic process, no human intervention necessary.”

“Right,” Seraphina grumbled, “I’d forgotten that.  I guess it was stupid to even suggest it.”

Khan was perplexed; despite the dismal outcome that awaited him and his people should this endeavor fail, how was it he felt he should soften the blow for her?  _For Inayya_ , came the whispered answer from some deep place in his mind.  The fleeting memory of her tender spirit had him turn to the young woman that he’d practically abducted, gently reassuring her, “No, brave little Seraphina—you are thinking like a survivor.  Exactly what I need you to do.”

If his compliment pleased her, he couldn’t tell; in her disappointment, she refused to look his way, sighing hard and speaking not a word.

* * *

 

“Of course, those security protocols can be overcome with proper adjustments,” Harrison went on to explain, quick to fill the unhappy silence between them, “But I would need several hours to effect such modifications, increasing my chances of discovery, even in the most remote location.  I lack the proper tools for such a task--and to be entirely effective, adjustments must be made on both the outgoing _and_ incoming portals…”  He trailed off with a shrug, waiting for her to pose the inevitable question or two.

Robbed of the slimmest hope that she might return to her own life relatively unscathed—and fairly sure what his answer would be—Seraphina finally faced him again, “And there’s no one in London who can help you?”

“Not a soul,” he told her plainly, “My family are all that I have left in this world—and all that matters to me.” His oft stern countenance had softened at his mention of family, enough to reawaken her sympathy—and make her chide herself for being so easy a mark.

“Well, what comes next then?” She strove for patience, while pointing out a sober fact, “We can’t drive on and on like this forever.”

The smallest crease of a smile ticked at the corner of his mouth; even in profile, it only made his good looks more irresistible.  But it was more than Harrison’s imposing physical presence and perfect masculine beauty that had her off balance from moment to moment, more than the hints of utter devotion and unexpected vulnerability which she detected at any mention of his family.  Seraphina had never felt the pull of her hormones more strongly than she did in his presence.  Like some strange drug, doping her up, dulling her reason, his strength and cunning and the force of his unstoppable will had her flummoxed—fear and desire constantly contending within her, so that despite her resolve, the notion of giving up completely and letting him carry her along to whatever fate he planned for her seemed the only relief she might find.  She wondered if he could tell how weak she was, and how far he would push his advantage.

If he did, he gave no sign.  Seraphina watched anxiously as he appeared to be considering his next words to her.  “Tell me, please, my brave desert rose—what do you know of Lockheed Martin Space Systems?”

Surprised, she took a moment to search her memory.  There was something familiar about the name, something in the background of her childhood.  “I’m…I’m not sure.  Although…hmmmm…”.  No, she couldn’t quite place it.  “I can check my handheld, if…if you want me to,” Sera offered cautiously, doubting he’d allow her access to a potential communication device.

“That won’t be necessary quite yet, Seraphina.”  To her relief, he sounded amused—rather than wary--at her suggestion.  “Before my departure from imprisonment, I was able to access the computer database and collect some basic information.  Enough to form a rudimentary plan.”

“So, tell me,” she urged him, grasping for hope, “Tell me please, John.”

“I have ascertained the locations of several Lockheed Martin-Raytheon plants west of your Rocky Mountains.”  Again, that note of amusement in his voice, as though her anxiety was somehow entertaining to him.  “Though they are decommissioned, I believe I may find enough of what I need to jury-rig an aircraft suited to my purposes.”  He glanced her way, smirking at her surprise, “So you see, I have a plan well underway—and once we reach our destination, I will keep my word and you will be free to return to your life, leaving me as only a dark and fleeting memory.”

 _Too good to be true_ , she thought, _there’s bound to be a catch or two before_ _we get there_.  In her heart, Seraphina could not believe it would be that easy to be quit of Harrison—and the danger he represented.   She would have to bide her time, keep her eyes open, and look for the chance to save herself—no matter how compelling a case he made for his cause.  No matter how fascinating and deadly beautiful his eyes were as they seemed to read her innermost thoughts and feelings, nor how the deep velvet of his baritone voice felt like an invitation to sin itself.

“Now--time to put your knowledge to good use,” he stated, confident he had her full cooperation, “You say you know this roadway well?”

“Yes,” she affirmed, wondering where he was leading.

Harrison nodded, “Excellent.  We’ll be needing to make a stop shortly, and I’ll rely on you to guide me to someplace inconspicuous.  Someplace where we’ll appear to be just a couple of ‘day tourists looking for an authentic taste of the old American west.’ ”

Seraphina tensed, wary of his reasons, “Okayyyyy, but can…can you tell me why?”

He flashed her a wolfish grin, chuckling at her cautious reaction.  “Because I haven’t had a bite to eat since yesterday afternoon,” he replied impudently, “And I’m famished.”

* * *

 

Seraphina directed them to a dusty little burg, whose main attraction was an ancient, long exhausted silver mine, on the outskirts of town.  Harrison pulled the hovercraft in front of the diner she selected--her choice, as it served the most palatable fare in town.  He instructed her carefully before they debarked, “Remember—no names; we are an anonymous couple on vacation.  Do nothing that might mark us as unusual, in the memory of the people we encounter.”

Wide-eyed, Sera paid strict attention to his directives, trying to let his calm manner soothe her nerves.  “And wait for me to open your hatch—it’s a small detail, but it helps complete the picture we want to present,” he advised her.   

“Of course,” she murmured, watching him cross in front of the craft, admiring his effortless, panther-like grace, while drawing a deep breath as she considered the minor venture ahead.  After the playacting she’d had to do at the roadblock, her performance here should be easy and—she hoped—sort of pleasant…as long as she properly followed Harrison’s lead, and didn’t do anything to draw undue attention upon them.  Besides, she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and was well past hungry herself.

Having raised the passenger hatch, Harrison offered her his hand, and she took it gladly (noting his strength yet again, and how even the slightest touch of his skin upon hers tingled delightfully), emerging into the sunlight.  He smiled down at her so genuinely, that she had to smile in return, and without hesitation he guided her forward, one hand pressed lightly against the small of her back.

Once inside the cool of the diner, they took a booth near the entrance, beside a window that offered a clear view of her hovercraft, the parking lot, and the road beyond it.  Seraphina imagined he was scanning the area carefully from behind the sunglasses he’d lifted from the thugs they’d overcome miles and miles ago.

Sera gave the menu a quick onceover, already fairly sure what she’d order, then looked to Harrison, about to ask what interested him when their server arrived.

“Can I get you folks something to drink?”

“The tallest, coolest glass of lemonade you can manage,” Sera answered casually, before the woman turned to Harrison.

Removing his glasses, he favored the server with a winning smile, “I’ll have the same as the lady.”  He surprised Seraphina as he answered in a flawlessly convincing American accent.  “Tall and oh so cool,” he added, winking at the woman as though they shared a delicious secret.

Clearly charmed by his manner ( _and those damned good looks_ , Sera mused cynically) the woman actually giggled, and told them she’d be back in a flash.  As she walked away, Harrison slid his hand across the table, lacing his fingers through Sera’s.  She gasped at such unexpected contact, as he gently tugged her hand closer to him.  “Happy couple,” he prompted her, _sotto voce_.  “I know you have it in you, _darling_ ,” stressing the last as a reminder of ‘no names’, “I’ve seen you rise to tougher challenges than this.”  His eyes bored into hers, holding her captive as he brushed his lips upon her knuckles.

Unprepared for such an intimate gesture, Seraphina felt herself blush, a little moan escaping her throat against her best intentions.  Unable (and frankly, unwilling) to pull her hand away, she realized with sudden clarity:  _he’s playing with_ _me…and the bastard is enjoying it too_!  _Two can play this game_ , she vowed, _and I’ve a trick or two that might surprise him if I play my hand_ _in full_.  With the skill of a practiced coquette, she tilted her head and bit her lip with a little sigh, watching him sidelong as she laid her gauntlet down, “ _Whatever_ you wish, my love…”  She let her voice trail off with the sweet innuendo, watching Harrison’s reaction carefully—his widened eyes and growing grin, encouraging her to continue, “ _However_ you wish it.”  As an afterthought, Sera pressed her leg against his under the table.

She felt his appreciative rumble of laughter as liquid heat in her belly, reminding her of that craving which had gone unsated for months and months now.  With her hand still in his grip, Harrison traced slow, firm circles on her palm with his thumb, a surprising hunger arising in his eyes and in his gruff tone.  “Beware how you tease me, desert rose.  Unless you _mean_ for me to take you at your word.” 

Seraphina was struck mute, fascinated as he flipped her hand over, letting his lips hover over the pulse point of her wrist, feeling the warmth of his breath—a tease in itself—before placing a single, moist kiss there.  He raised his eyes to hers, silently daring her to meet his bold move. 

Dizzied, confused, confounded, by the thrill that coursed through her, she could barely stutter a reply—but was saved at the last by the arrival of their drinks.  Sera tore her eyes from Harrison’s hungry gaze, trying to focus on their server, then staring hard at her name badge ( _Evelyn_ , she thought, desperate to concentrate, _her name is Evelyn_ ) as she gradually came back to herself.

Evelyn smirked, clearly reading the sexual tension between them, and assuming quite naturally that it was their normal.  “Cold drinks, just as ordered,” she quipped, “And apparently just in time, too.”  She leaned closer, warning them, “This is a family establishment, you know.  There’s kids two tables down, so maybe you two could cool it down a bit?”

Embarrassed, Seraphina pulled her hand from Harrison’s grasp, while he smoothly apologized.  “Of course, Miss Evelyn.  No disrespect intended, to you or anyone here.”  He smiled sheepishly, “We just got a little carried away.  I swear we’ll behave now…won’t we, darling?”

Sera nodded, lesson learned to proceed with him more cautiously, watching in awe as he speedily recovered from their _faux pas_ , pointing to an item on the menu and asking their server, “What exactly is in this, uh…”  He chuckled a moment, and Sera couldn’t tell if he was serious, or still playing a part, “…this, uh…‘chicken fried steak’?”

* * *

 

Khan ate with a gusto he’d forgotten he was capable of during the long months of his confinement.  That food had been bland and merely utilitarian, meant to keep his body functioning at minimum capacity, as part of Markus’s plan to keep him well at heel.  At times, he’d wondered if this advanced society eschewed rich flavors altogether, having forgotten—or forgone the wisdom--that variety added texture and color to the tapestry of even the dullest of lives.  He missed the spices of home, the scents and tastes of traditional Indian delicacies, and the sweetly satisfying fruits grown freely in his native province.

Seraphina had suggested he sample that most American of meals—a cheeseburger with ‘the works’, served with a side of thickly sliced, fried potatoes.  Khan felt no compunction in regard to the religious dietary restrictions of his culture; he had been raised free of such superstitious beliefs, reason and logic reigning in their place.  He ordered the burger rare, despite Evelyn’s contraindication, and was delighted with his plate—the sandwich heaped high with cheese, bacon, onions and hearty slices of tomato, the potatoes fried golden in some shamelessly delicious fat, their insides fluffy and almost too hot to eat without dipping them in a spiced red sauce.  Seraphina had laughed—sounding nearly carefree—as she grabbed the bottle and dumped some onto his plate. “Ketchup’s a must with these, dear.”  She helped herself to a couple of his fries, coating them in the sauce, before popping them into her pretty mouth.  He found the spark of mischief in her eyes surprisingly endearing—a lovely distraction, very in keeping with her character.  It made him wish he could guarantee her safety beyond his use for her; a soft sentiment he could ill afford, when placed against the needs of his people.

For her part, Seraphina appeared to enjoy the enthusiasm with which Khan attacked his meal, telling him a time or two that he ought to slow down and chew his food.  She’d opted for lighter fare, some sort of chicken and vegetables baked into a flaky pastry crust, and a small spinach and tangerine salad.

He kept a steady eye on the view outside their window, ready to take immediate action should even the hint of a threat appear.  All remained quiet, however; if this really was a tourist stop, then business was doing poorly.  He’d been considering ordering a second burger, when Seraphina tapped his arm, and leaned across the table.

“Um, honey,” she started, her voice as guarded as her features; he was relieved she’d remembered not to call him by name.  “I, um…”

Observing her fidget, and the way she hesitated as she searched for the right words, he guessed what she wanted to say.  “You need to use the facilities.”

Seraphina rolled her eyes in embarrassment—or was that an effort to make him think she had no intention of attempting an escape? 

Khan leaned in as close as he could, studying her carefully.  “And you’re asking me to trust you enough so you can do so unaccompanied.”

To her credit, she didn’t flinch, but held his gaze, unwaveringly, while asking him simply, “Please?”

Their faces were inches apart; anyone observing them would assume they were two lovers in close conversation.  Khan tilted her chin to bring her even nearer.  “Are you a woman of you word,” he whispered, “Or would I be a fool, after everything I’ve endured, to allow such a thing?”

How sad she looked as she considered his questions, vulnerable and sad and somehow lost.  “I understand your predicament, and I swear to you…I swear on my soul, I will do nothing to jeopardize your freedom and your chance to save your family.  Please,” she plead, “Trust me just this little bit.” And then, in a seeming proffer of sincerity, she closed the space between them, to land a soft, brief kiss upon his mouth.  It left the tang of citrus from her salad on his lips--and a sweetness, that could only be her own.

Such a small request it was, yet Khan knew it was the most important decision he had made since breaking out of Marcus’s stronghold.  And he hadn’t needed the kiss to sway him.  In the most unlikely place he’d found an ally, and though he truly could not guarantee her safety, he realized he owed her at least that bit of trust.

“You will leave your handbag here,” he conceded sternly, “Keeping in mind that I hold your keys.  Should you be foolhardy enough to flee on foot, know that I can—and will—find you…”

“Yes…yes of course,” she nodded.

“…you have five minutes.  And I have no qualms about checking on you before that time expires.  Are we clear on these stipulations?”

She sat back, meeting his eyes unapologetically.  “Absolutely.  Crystal clear.”  As a quietly as an afterthought, she added, “Thank you,” before sliding out of the booth.

* * *

 

Seraphina had considered escape for all of thirty seconds, rejecting the idea with little regret.  The fact that she knew Harrison would carry through on his promises with speed and without remorse, was not the main reason.  She had come to believe the basics of his tale—that people he cared deeply for were in danger.  Call it instinct, or a tenderness of heart, it amounted to the same—she could _not_ be the reason he did not succeed in saving them.

Returning in the time allotted, she found him focused on her tablet, scrolling rapidly through whatever information he had called up.  Sera took the liberty of sitting beside him, close enough so that their shoulders touched.  He didn’t seem to notice her.  She cleared her throat softly.

“A moment please,” he told her, eyes never wavering from the screen.  She waited in silence several minutes, until Harrison set down the device, likely having obtained what info he’d needed.  He looked pleased as her turned to her.  “I have determined our destination, and we have much ground to cover in the days ahead…”

“D…days,” she stuttered, her fervent hope for freedom replaced by an immediate flood of anxiety in her chest, “Did…did you say ‘days’?” 

He confirmed her fear without hesitation, or even a bit of mercy to ease her misgivings, “You heard me correctly.  We should be on our way at once.”  Sera knew any protest she might raise would be uselessly spent; Harrison’s resolve was clear in the grim set of his brow and the depth of determination in his eyes.

“We should settle our bill,” he continued, ignoring the panic she thought must be clear on her face, “I have plenty of hard currency, retrieved from those men we encountered roadside.”  He pulled a handful of coins from his pocket, “Will this be sufficient?”

Numbly, Seraphina plucked enough money from his palm to cover the cost of their meal and leave a generous tip for Evelyn.  “This should do,” she croaked, helplessly swept along by his will.  In another blow to her dwindling hopes of freedom, a dim part of her mind noted that his choice to use currency over credits was another way to keep their trail clear from those pursuing them.

As they left the diner, Harrison draped an arm familiarly around her waist, reinforcing the illusion he’d devised to keep them relatively inconspicuous.  Though Sera ached to break away from him, to run, to flee, before he dragged her further from her simple, anonymous life, she hadn’t the strength of will.  Instead, she found herself leaning into him, drawing some strange, perverse comfort from his firm, muscular form; from his solidity and unflagging confidence.  Though she numbered the promises he had made regarding her safety and fate, she was crying silently by the time they reached the hovercraft.

They stopped beside the passenger hatch, and he lifted her face to look up at his.  “Seraphina,” he murmured, the illusion of patience and sympathy coloring his perfect features, “There is no need for despair.  I have a viable plan, and your part in it will be concluded soon enough.”  He swept the tears from her cheeks, far more tenderly than she would have imagined him capable of, bringing her a calm that outweighed her gloom.

“But days, John.  I…I don’t think I can take days of this.”  She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to quit crying.  “I’m not brave, I’m not built for this.  Can’t you understand this about me?”

Quietly skeptical, Harrison shook his head, taking her by the shoulders, “You are far braver than you give yourself credit for.  You will do this not because I need you to, or will you to—but because your nature tells you that you must.”

Sera blinked slowly several times, mesmerized by the soft regard in his eyes as he drew her closer.  Though his grip upon her shoulders was firm, his lips were persuasively gentle, melting her fear and answering the question that had hovered at the back of her mind all afternoon:  how might they be in the kissing?  The small voice of reason spoke a warning in her mind-- _this is just another way for him to manipulate you_ \--but still she opened her mouth beneath his, allowing him to deepen the kiss, shivering at the dance of his tongue against hers.  Harrison buried one hand in her hair, moving it to cradle the back of her head, while sliding the other down to the small of her back.  She gave no resistance as he pulled her flush against him, knowing her body was betraying her, but wanting to sink into whatever his desire required of her.  

He backed her against the hatch as she clung tight, and she swept her hands to the nape of his neck and the center of his back, moaning deep in her throat at the press of his body on hers, and at the bulge in his jeans growing harder with the intensity of their kiss.  _If this is manipulation, then it’s_ _rebounded upon_ him, she thought--soon realizing that she _did_ have a power of sorts after all; the power to move this implacable man…this superman…this dark prince…to _want_ her, despite the great need that had set him on his desperate course.  In that instant, she knew herself to be strong enough to face whatever trial might come her way—and woman enough to meet his desire with her own, with a heat and passion that could rise to answer his darkest needs.


	8. Chapter 8

His little desert rose had yielded to him as readily as he had expected.  So deliciously soft as he kissed her, allowing his every advance while molding her supple body against him without hesitation, thus confirming what he’d known within the hour that they’d met—she wanted him.  Despite the dire situation he’d dragged her into, despite her very rational reasons to fear him and the dubious fate he might bring her to, despite simple common sense and the instinct for self-preservation, she wanted him.

What he hadn’t foreseen was how badly he’d come to want her.

Khan had recognized long ago his predilection for women of a softer sort; Augmented women—brilliant and beautiful as their biology dictated–were the worthiest of consorts, but they lacked a softness, a feminine vulnerability, which he had always found appealing, as far back as the first time he experienced the stirrings of sexual desire.  Females of his kind could be as selfishly cunning as he was himself; cold and calculating, which made them perfect compatriots in battle and in governing—but in intimacy, he had found that they usually lacked the willingness to let him fully lead; to give themselves over to the act completely and surrender to  _his_  will.  With such women, there was mutual satisfaction, but no marrying of spirit, no sacrifice of self to please their partner more than to achieve pleasure of their own. Oh, they would meet his passion with equal heat and ardor, but the tenderness that he kept well hidden—and which he longed to receive as much as to give, in the depths of his secret heart—they would spurn as pure weakness.  Only in the beds of ordinary, impractical, flawed-- yet beautifully human--women, did he find the satisfaction of connection at a deeper level than the physical.  On this matter, though, he had _always_  kept his own counsel, letting his brothers believe he preferred such simple women as mere playthings, just temporary conduits for pleasure. 

His pretty Seraphina—for yes, in his mind he already thought of her as _his_ —was _exactly_ the sort of woman he would have sought in his old life, to satisfy his hunger for both physical and emotional connection.

Having thought of Seraphina’s obvious attraction to him as just another means of ensuring her cooperation, Khan had been employing well-timed moments of physical contact to keep her off kilter and cloud her judgement.  Her behavior in the diner booth had pleased him, in keeping with his plans—and intrigued him, too.  For the first time since they’d met, he allowed himself to consider taking her, reading the offer in her clear, grey eyes and the heat of her skin at his slightest touch.  If time and place allowed it, he might lay his fretful responsibility aside for a time, to slake himself in her soft, welcoming heat.   It had been far too long since he had indulged in such a carnal pleasure.

Before his long, enforced sleep, Khan and his fellow Augments had lived desperate lives, retreating for several months as enemy forces beat them back, well past all the borders of the territories they had once held.  Then followed weeks and weeks of living on the run, until cornered at the last, they were set slumbering among the stars.  He’d had no time, and certainly no inclination in those dangerous days, to even consider satisfying extraneous biological urges—and since he’d been awakened, the thought had never crossed his mind, as he’d had far more important challenges to deal with.  Could he be blamed now for considering such a delicious temptation?

Still cradling her head, Khan slid his hand from her lower back around to cup her breast; surprised a moment, she gasped into his mouth, but then arched against him, seeking firmer contact.  He stretched his fingers wide, splaying his large palm upon her fully, feeling his effect upon her in the stiffened bud of her nipple, and then tightening his grasp until she moaned helplessly.  He broke the kiss, desiring to look upon her; she panted in its wake, her lips full and ripe, begging him wordlessly to make them his again.  “Seraphina,” he growled, gaging the effect his voice had on her, and relishing her softness against him, before sealing her mouth with his.

Khan was aware of even her slightest movements as he tasted her, fondled her, breathed her in.  Surely she had given full consent, as she teased her tongue against his, nested fingers of one hand in his hair, and echoed his movements by pressing her other hand hard upon his chest.  When he pulled out of their kiss again, she moved her head closer, loathe to break apart, and managed to capture his lower lip between hers, running the tip of her tongue along it several times before grazing it with her teeth.  His turn to moan, as the thrill of it coursed through his blood.  That he _would_ have her, suddenly became the beat of the blood in his brain; to have, to take, to penetrate, to free himself from the burden that he carried, for the sweet span of time when they would move as one, until he inevitably spilled himself inside of her.  For several dozen heartbeats, it was his sole imperative.

With the salty taste of blood on his tongue—if asked, Khan could not have said which of them had drawn it from the other—impelling him headlong regardless of consequences, he flicked one of her blouse buttons open, then two, to run his fingers beneath her bra.  Seraphina’s flesh was smooth, soft, and as hot as the need throbbing in his loins; she answered his touch by bucking her hips against his.  His world had become the little space that encompassed their entangled figures, as he ground against her in response.  Dimly, he reckoned they must find a private place to see themselves to consummation, and do so soon--until a wolf-whistle and the catcalls of passersby cut through his haze of lust, reminding him of time and place, and of his obligations.

Angry at himself for losing control—and at this new world that robbed him of satisfaction at every turn--he threw his head back, gasping for air, knowing he must master himself at once, lest all his labors to save his people be for naught.  Seraphina, lost in her desire for him, clung to him still, spoiling his neck with desperate, hungry kisses.  “No,” Khan groaned, regretfully disentangling himself from her embrace.  “No,” he repeated, as she whimpered in confusion when he brusquely pushed her away.  She slumped against the passenger hatch, watching him with a sad, stunned expression on her face, then bowed her head, letting her hair hide her shock and her shame.

Though the heat of his desire was slow to cool, Khan could feel the constraints of time driving him forward.  “Seraphina,” he urged her through gritted teeth, stepping closer, ready to take her by the arm if necessary, “We must depart this place at once.  We have called too much attention upon ourselves, and this may mean disaster for my mission.”  And then, softly, because she deserved better of him, “Seraphina…please.”

His plaintive tone was enough to break her stasis.  She looked to him and nodded, then turned to open her hatch, and climbed inside the hovercraft.  Khan closed it behind her, and jogged to the driver side, anxious to depart.

* * *

Khan gunned the accelerator, swift to leave the dusty town behind them.  He’d need to consult with his passenger soon enough, but for the time being he would not trouble her, biding his time until it became necessary.

Seraphina had not looked at him, nor had she uttered a word, silently resting her forehead against the cool, tinted glass window.  Her clever, dainty hands—that had touched him with such fervor—now lay listless in her lap.  Khan could not imagine what she might be thinking, but made a fair guess at what she must be feeling; anger, confusion, frustration, all to be laid at his door.  His uncharacteristic recklessness and failure of self-discipline had likely undone the trust that he had carefully forged between them, perhaps permanently, lessening his chances for success. 

Gently then, and as patiently as he could, Khan offered an apology.  “I have wronged you, Seraphina.  I was weak,” he told her, sincere in his repentance, “… a foolhardy, clumsy brute.  I assumed liberties I had no right to.  If you despise me, I understand.”  She gave no sign his statements touched her in the least.  “Please…please allow me to make amends—and I swear upon those I hold most dear, I will not trespass in such a way again.”

She drew a heavy breath, and finally turned to him, “You needn’t apologize, John.  I wasn’t exactly fighting you off, was I?  Let’s just say I lost control as well, and call it even…okay?”  She sounded worn and unhappily resigned.

“As you wish,” he agreed, relieved that she had softened, even amid her sadness, “And please know, your honor and safety are dearer to me than you might believe.”  Risking their tentative peace, Khan took one of her hands in his; satisfied with the lack of resistance, he held on loosely, waiting.  Simply waiting.

She did not disappoint him.  Squeezing his hand lightly, she raised her chin gamely, “Just tell me what comes next, John.  I’m in this with you for real.”

Marveling at her resiliency, and at this proof of the strength that he had read in her from the first, he took a beat before revealing his next move.  However this undertaking ended for him, in his mind (and heart, if he was completely honest with himself) she would forever be bright and brave--and breathtakingly _his_. _His Seraphina_.

* * *

He’d told her that they needed to make their way northwest—Bangor, Washington.  Of the decommissioned facilities on the west coast, it was the furthest away.  Sera understood the logic--it should be the _last_ place their pursuers would expect them to head—but it would take her far, far from home, far from her safe, comfortable life, and far from her own obligations.  Considering that there were lives at stake, she hadn’t the selfishness or temerity to mention that Harrison’s quest was an obstacle to her daily living; she’d be missing at least two gigs, as they sped away from California, and probably several more until she found her way back home. _If_ she was able to come back from this misadventure at all.  In a matter of several hours, he had managed to turn her world upside down, and confuse and confound her as no man in her life had ever done.  Yet she couldn’t help but want him.

Seraphina was no prude, but rarely had her choice of lovers been based on thoughtless passion.  Physical attraction, certainly; intelligence and a sense of humor, a must; compatibility and common interests, absolutely.  But this man, this beautiful stranger, had smashed through a lifetime of rules she had set for herself, with the ease of a hot knife slicing through butter.  From the moment he’d kissed her, she had lost all sense of reason, responding with the basest of instincts—and no matter how appalled that behavior (and in a public place, no less) left her feeling now, deep inside she wanted more.  

Relieved when a contrite Harrison finally broke the quiet between them, Sera was grateful to leave off dwelling on how foolishly she had behaved.  The task of plotting out their best backroads route to Bangor left her feeling some meager control over her high-jacked life, and with her guidance, they soon put the heart of the desert behind them.

Consulting her tablet, Seraphina cautioned him, “Following these directions means it’ll be at least a couple more days until we get there.  Can you afford this sort of delay?”

Harrison nodded, “An unfortunate necessity.  Although we should benefit from our trail growing cold.  I’m certain that those searching for me cannot anticipate our destination, let alone our route.”

_Great--at least two days more with him; and so much can happen in that time_ , she mused.  While her mind tried to reckon the prospects of continued survival in his dangerous company, the idea of more pleasant possibilities at his hands left her feeling surprising flutters of anticipation.        

“We _could_ take turns at the guidance controls,” she suggested, “You know, one of us could catch a few hours sleep, while the other pilots the hovercraft.”  He seemed to give her idea due consideration.  “That is…that is if you feel you can trust me,” she prompted him, “And seriously, John—I…I think I’ve earned it.”

Harrison glanced sidelong, dividing his attention between her and the road before them.  Sera watched in wonder as a smile slowly lit his face.  _Devastating_ , she thought; _what a woman might not do for such a_ _devastating smile_.  And then, recalling how easily she’d already submitted to his will, she sent a small, grave prayer heavenward.  _God help me_.

“Yes,” he drawled, clearly amused again, probably reading her feelings too well, “You surely have, my dear desert rose.”  He chuckled, the sound so natural and perfect that she melted a little inside.  “Thorns and all, I believe that I _can_ trust you.”

Sera allowed herself only a moment to enjoy his kind regard; hosting such soft emotions, allowing her unwilling attraction to override her common sense, would not negate the menace that lurked beneath his flawless features and effortless charm.

They maintained a companionable silence, while Harrison navigated the course Sera set.  By dusk, the world outside their windows had fully changed from arid tans and desert browns, to the many healthy shades of green and growing things; single-laned, tree lined roads, interspersed with stretches of farmland, under skies colored a fire-toned orange, then scarlett, and finally purple, with the California sunset.  Under other circumstances, such idyllic beauty might’ve moved her to speak of their wonder aloud—but Seraphina remained all too aware that such a peace could be suddenly broken, if those chasing Harrison somehow picked up on their trail.

“Perhaps a rest stop, Seraphina,” he proposed, as stars began to appear between breaks in the clouds, “Stretch our legs a bit, obtain some refreshment?” 

“That’s, uh…that’s kind of you to suggest, John,” she answered quietly, guessing his offer was mostly for her sake; she bet _he_ could travel through the night without a need to stop.  She consulted her tablet, zeroing in on their locality.  “There’s a crossroads just a couple miles ahead.  We can divert to…Mossburg.”  Sera scrolled further, scanning the town’s vital statistics.  “It’s barely a bump in the road,” she shrugged, “but I’ll bet they’ve got a business district where we could find what we need, and then we can backtrack and move on.”

Harrison nodded, “Mossburg it is then.  Though I doubt we’ll be lucky enough to find a meal worthy of this afternoon’s cheeseburger.”  He quirked an eyebrow her way, his first sign of humor since they’d left the diner—charming her, despite her renewed resolve not let him under her skin...again.

* * *

Mossburg was indeed less than a “bump in the road”, as Seraphina had indicated, with only a dozen businesses and nearly empty parking lots populating its main street—and most of those had closed for the evening.  Khan coasted the hovercraft to a spot in front of _Mossburg Mercantile_ , a two-story edifice that held the only promise of providing for their needs.

“Well,” she sighed, “I suppose beggars can’t be choosers, right?”  She flipped her hatch open, but turned back to him before walking away, “Any special requests.”

“Only that you remain discreet, and return as swiftly as you are able,” he reminded her, “Although I have detected no sign that we’ve been followed, to remain in this place too long is to tempt fate.”

Undaunted, Seraphina flashed him an agreeable smile, before heading to the market doors.  Khan felt a quiet pang of longing, admiring the gentle curve of her waist and the fluid sway of her hips as she passed from his line of sight.  It had been far too long since he’d known a woman’s softness, and their earlier interlude had left him even keener to taste such sweetness; centuries had passed, and mankind may have changed in superficial ways, but certainly that act must remain as vital and satisfying as he remembered.  If fortune favored him, he hoped the opportunity to prove that supposition would present itself in due time.  He had no doubt that should the chance come round again, his little Seraphina would be more than willing.

Exiting the hovercraft to stretch his legs, Khan kept a steady eye on his environs.  The night around him was quiet, the barest of breezes whispering through the trees, the stars of earlier in the evening partly obscured by fluffy banks of clouds.  He closed his eyes a moment, breathing deeply, appreciating the soft caress of the breeze upon his skin.  Since breaking free of captivity, Khan had not had a moment to be still and simply…be.  Though he did not tire as ordinary men might, he was weary in mind and spirit; but with more miles ahead of him than he cared to tally, there would be no rest for him anytime soon.

He surveyed the area carefully once more, then made his way towards the market entrance.  Not to check on Seraphina—he was confident now that he had fully won her to his side—but he needed to relieve himself before they hit the road again.  Khan passed her at the checkout, where she was paying for her purchase.  She smiled in surprise, and quirked a questioning eyebrow his way.  He gave a small tilt of his head as though to indicate his direction; she seemed to understand, nodded, and then turned back to the salesclerk.  That they communicated so easily was another delight he hadn’t expected.

His business concluded, Khan was eager to get going again.  He’d offer to let Seraphina sleep, and take a further turn at the controls himself; her stamina was bound to flag soon, and he could go days more without shuteye, if necessary.  Exiting the market, though, he knew almost immediately that something was amiss.

The passenger hatch stood open, which he would have expected, but within seconds the rest of the scene told the tale.  She was gone—and not of her own volition.  The grocery sacks she’d carried lay on the hardtop, their contents spilt haphazardly.  Her satchel lay several feet beyond, the only indication of the direction she’d been taken.  Dragged most likely—and if he judged her well, she’d have put up a spirited fight.  Khan’s heart thudded with apprehension, and he cursed himself for having let his guard down so casually.

Drawing his phaser, and keeping the hovercraft at his back, Khan swept his eyes methodically around the area, returning each time in the direction he felt sure Seraphina had been taken.  His night vision was far better than other men’s, but the cloud cover levelled that playing field.  He would have to make a move soon—and he needed to get it right the first time.  There would be no second chance if he miscalculated.  For Seraphina… _or_ for himself.    

Khan made himself still as a stone, every sense attuned to catch the smallest clue to the location of this newest threat.   Small rustlings in the dark, probably human; two men at least, one closer at hand than the other.  The stench of sweat, wafting on the lightest of breezes, coming from across the street.  A narrow alleyway, a dark shape at its edge; that would be one of them lying in wait for him.  He would take a shot, if it were only his life at stake, but doing so could only further endanger Seraphina.  Surrender was no option, for as a pawn, she would be carelessly, even violently, discarded by these mercenaries, regardless of the sacrifice he’d make.  Khan cursed himself again, picturing the wreck of all his plans, the bitter taste of failure filling his mouth.

And then, a mocking voice called to him out of the darkness, unwittingly revealing enough details about location and position for Khan to crystalize a plan of action.  “I’ve got your fine little piece of ass right here, Harrison.  And, she is so…very…soft,” it chortled, “In _all_ the right places.”  It turned cold and vicious with the deadliest of threats, “So, if you want to see her live another day, drop your weapon now and follow the sound of my voice.”

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Khan’s best estimate was that he was dealing with a two man team.  Due to the failure of his men at the roadblock, Marcus had obviously opted for stealth and discretion over brute force—not a surprising choice, but one Khan was certain he could turn to his own favor.  He’d have to deal with the one he sensed lurking just inside the alley, and do so quietly and quickly, ideally disposing of that threat before the faceless voice in the dark was even aware he’d taken the second man out.

Resolved on his course of action, he raised both hands in the air, still keeping the phaser in his grip.  “Release the woman,” he insisted, knowing his demand would be ignored, “And I’ll lay my phaser down.”  He tensed, waiting on the response.

“Lay it down _now_ ,” the voice reiterated, “Kneel down, fingers laced behind your head, and once we’ve got you in restraints, she’ll walk free.”  An outright lie, Khan knew; Seraphina’s value would be nil to them, once he was disarmed and captured.  She would be the loose end destined for termination—if not here, than back in Marcus’s secret facility.

“No, John,” she called to him, the strain in her voice a mix of fear for her own fate and honest concern for his, “Don’t let them take you.”  She moaned sharply, and Khan imagined that she had been harshly silenced.  A dark fury bloomed in his chest, but he restrained himself for the moment; he’d release that anger only when the timing would favor success.

At the edge of the alley, Khan bent over and laid the phaser at his feet, and then—as a show of compliance--kicked it into the darkness.  “I have disarmed,” he said grimly.  Clasping his hands behind his head, he took to his knees—though his body remained taut as a tightly wound spring, prepared to strike out as soon as opportunity presented itself. 

The scrape of heavy work boots against the pavement heralded the advance of Khan’s would-be captor; as stealthy as his approach may have been, Khan’s ears were far too keen to allow for surprise.  He easily judged the distance and precise direction from whence the unfortunate fool came, and calculated the precious seconds he had left before he needed to strike. 

When the man had taken his expected position, and was busy moving the muzzle of his weapon against the side of Khan’s head, Khan moved with uncanny speed and accuracy, driving his elbow mercilessly into his assailant’s solar plexus.  The man grunted in surprise and obvious pain, doubling over and giving Khan the opportunity to finish his rough task.

Locking the man in a _shime-waza_ , while taking care to not completely cut off his air supply, Khan shortly lowered the unconscious man to the ground, and considered his next move.  With Seraphina held captive in the darkness, he needed to move carefully—but speed was vital to success.

He surmised that Marcus and his people had learned a valuable lesson from the attempted capture in the desert; Khan was immune to the stun effects of phaser fire.  While in captivity, he had never given them a reason to use those weapons on him—so knowing now that such weapons were useless to them ( _unless set to kill_ , he pondered, _and they would_ not _want to chance that_ ), these men were equipped with projectile weapons familiar to him.  In fact, examining the one he had pried from his fallen assailant’s hand, Khan noted it was not too far removed from the semiautomatic pistols of his time.  He made sure the safety was engaged, and then tucked the gun in his waistband, at the small of his back.

Khan remained silent, listening intently for any sound that might lead him closer to Seraphina.  The dark of the alley was nearly complete, except for spare moments when moonlight filtered through the wispier clouds.  He heard the shift of bodies, and a female moan of discomfort; the cur had likely tightened his grasp on her, anticipating a showdown with his opponent, now that his partner was incapacitated.

Time to apply pressure; the odds had improved considerably, and Khan knew if he rattled the man’s confidence, he would be all the easier to overcome.  “Seraphina,” he called into the dark, moving forward cautiously, “Remain calm, no matter what transpires.  I promise I _will_ have you shortly.”

Unshaken, Marcus’s man t’sk’d several times, before mocking him, “Awwww—that’s sweet…but you shouldn’t be making promises that you know damn well you won’t be able to keep.”

“Your cohort lies at my feet, and I promise that you will join him shortly.”  Khan maintained a calm, even tone, seeking to erode his opponent’s complacence, “Did they not warn you about my deadly skill set?  Or how many men I singlehandedly defeated to affect my escape?”

“You don’t scare me, Harrison,” he snorted, “I know plenty enough about you…”

“Such as?”  Though his eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness—allowing him to mark vague shapes--Khan needed to keep the brute speaking, as he waited for another break in the cloud cover.  A break long enough for him to discern Seraphina’s condition, and enough to set his prey solidly in his sights.

“Let’s see—how about that you’ve got a soft spot for this…”  Seraphina yelped alarmingly, and Khan balled his hands into fists, hard pressed to restrain immediate action, while promising himself the bastard would pay dearly for any mark he left upon her, and every moment of pain he put her through.  “…this pretty thing.  Oh, the things we’re gonna do to her once we get her back to the lab,” he taunted, laughing wickedly, “And maybe we’ll even give you a front row seat for the festivities.”

“Your efforts to goad me into action are foolish beyond measure,” Khan informed him dispassionately—far from his true feelings.  In reality, he imagined driving the voice’s owner to his knees before crushing his skull with his bare hands.  “And I believe you only managed to find me out of sheer luck, despite your stunning incompetence and miscalculation.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” came the grunted reply, “You really don’t have a clue do you?”  And then, eager to assert some sort of superiority, he revealed the answer to the question Khan had been unable to resolve for himself, “You’re supposed to this off the charts genius—but you’ve been _tagged_ , you sunuvabitch.”  Voice dripping with derision, he added, “Tagged like some stupid animal.  And like some stupid animal, _you_ couldn’t even figure that out.”

For the first time since his escape, Khan felt out of his element, doubting himself.  It made perfect sense; it explained how they’d found him so surprisingly, so quickly—but it had never even occurred to him.  Yes, he hadn’t been quite himself in the initial days of his return to consciousness; he’d experienced moments of uncharacteristic mental weakness—and even a feeling of despair, when he realized how completely alone he was, stranger in a strange land, surrounded by creatures that controlled every moment of his life.  He had attributed these things to the effects of his long cryo-sleep.  He wondered now if he simply hadn’t lost his edge.

“Give it up now, Harrison, and I’ll consider letting her off easy.”

Khan glanced at the clouds again, registering that he had moments left until the full light of the half-moon would illuminate the alley.  “Your words mean nothing,” he growled back, readying for action, “Unhand her and I’ll _consider_ letting _you_ off with your life.” 

Seraphina’s painful yelp was the initial reply, followed by throaty laughter and words as cold as steel in winter, “You’re killing her, Harrison. One drop of blood at a time.”

As the moonlight finally pierced the darkness, Khan issued his last warning, “Release her now, or I assure you the only real blood spilled in this alley tonight will be your own.”  And then he saw clearly enough: a dangerous tableau, in which Marcus’s minion had Seraphina pressed tightly against him, an arm across her chest while he traced the edge of a knife along her exposed collarbone.  At this distance, Khan judged that the cuts she bore were shallow, but surely enough to cow her.  Her eyes went wide as saucers as they met his own for the span of a heartbeat.  Then he was flinging his jackknife with the deadly accuracy he had promised her captor; as ever, his aim was true, and the blade lodged itself to the hilt in the man’s left eye

For a split second before he fell—pulling Seraphina down on top of him, still caught tight in his grasp—a look of complete surprise colored the dead man’s features.  Khan was _not_ surprised; he had seen that look before.  Far too often in fact, and it always reminded him that most men—most of mankind—did not fully grasp the meaning of their own mortality until it took them without warning.  He rushed forward to free his little flower from that rough embrace.

Despite her shock and stunned silence, she had managed to disentangle herself before he reached her side.  She scrambled away awkwardly, crab-crawling backwards until she reached the solid wall behind her.  She watched Khan a moment, registering that her captor was dead and that she was finally safe--just as Khan had promised her—and then pulled her knees in, wrapping her arms around them, and resting her face against the peak they made.  Even at the distance of several feet, he could tell that she was trembling, but there was a thing or two needed doing before he could go to her side.

He bent over the motionless body, noting the fog of death in its one good eye, not deigning to even close the lid, as it deserved no bit of human sympathy, even in death.  Khan jabbed its shoulder roughly with his booted foot, satisfied with his dire handiwork, and then pulled the jackknife out of the ruined eye, wiping the blade clean on the shoulder of the dead man’s jacket. He then set about removing any identification on the body and riffling through its pockets, to take anything that might be of use to them as they continued their hazardous flight.

Seraphina had begun to sob, the sound muffled but heart wrenching, and Khan’s anger for the pain her gentle spirit had suffered—as much, if not more, _his_ fault, than the fool who lay dead at his feet--made him lash out; he kicked the body squarely in the chest, grunting with grim satisfaction at the sound of several ribs breaking, vaguely wishing the man could still feel the real pain he so deserved.  He turned and moved quickly to her side.

Crouching beside her, he raised her head gently; lost in her misery, Seraphina flinched at first, but then gave in to his ministering hands.  Khan studied her swiftly, first checking her head and face for serious injury, and then running his hands firmly along her neck, shoulders and arms, assessing the physical toll of her ordeal.  Relieved that any damage was superficial, he relaxed at last, and pulled her into the circle of his arms.  She offered no resistance, shivering against him, burying her face in the crook of his neck, and giving in to greater sobs as she clung to him for comfort.

Holding her as tightly as he dared, Khan laid his cheek against the soft cushion of her hair, while she wet his neck and collar with bitter tears.  Without a second thought, he began to gently croon, meaning to calm and console her, “Softly, now, my sweet flower.  I have you now, and will keep you safe.”  Other kindly words he offered, grateful to feel her trembling slow and then cease, as she came back to herself.

When she had quieted completely, she withdrew a little from his arms, lifting her tear stained face enough to meet his eyes with her own.  They held no anger, or accusation (both of which he so richly deserved), and Khan surprised himself with the flood of tenderness that welled up in his chest—until he realized it was that same old weakness of his, astounded at how quickly she had found a place inside his secret heart.  Such a complication could not bode well for his success, and yet a part of him was grateful he could still feel such softness after all the months of pitiless cruelty which he had endured.

Tenderly, Khan brushed his lips upon her brow, pulling her close again, to murmur words of comfort between quiet kisses to the crown of her head. “There, my brave one…my sweet flower…my pretty, pretty Seraphina,” he told her between those modest kisses, allowing himself to deeply inhale the perfume of her hair again.  And as had been inevitable from the moment he had carried her unconscious form back to her hovercraft only a half-day ago, that familiar fragrance of jasmine and honey broke through his final vanguard of stoicism, opening the floodgates of his most bittersweet memories.

This was the scent he would forever associate with the last time in his life he was truly free of care--before he was forced to fulfill the destiny designed for him by scores of others.  None of whom had ever grasped the simple fact that inside his superhuman body—and despite his formidable brilliance and cunning—dwelled the very human doubts, vulnerabilities, and confusing jumble of hormones and adolescent emotions, of an average fifteen year old boy.

 _Not here, not now_ , Khan chided himself; _the stakes are too high to give these thoughts play, and so many lives—including Seraphina’s--depend upon what I do in the days ahead._   

Gently, he prepared her for what lay ahead. “We must be on our way, Seraphina.  At once, if you can bear it.  Even if these men have not communicated our location to their superiors, the tracker I bear will give us away.”

She nodded against him, and he felt her resolve return in the straightening of her shoulders before she withdrew from his arms.  She drew a long, calming breath, raising her head regally, the flame of defiance in her eyes; he marveled at the picture she made, thinking what a perfect consort she might’ve made for him under other circumstances.  Free of the fear that had gripped her, Seraphina replied with unwavering conviction, “I’m ready, John.  They don’t get to win.  Not now—not ever.”

Khan stood, pleased with her commitment to continue, and gave her his hand, helping her to stand.  “There is a vital matter we must address before we go any further.  And I must rely on _your_ fortitude. Seraphina.”

She nodded again, managing a sad smile, “Whatever you need, John.  Tell me and…and it’s as good as done.”

He raised his eyes skyward, gaging an approaching bank of clouds.  “We must be swift about this; the moonlight will have to be enough.”  He extended the handle of the jackknife to her; she took it silently, wariness in the set of her brow.  “The tracker they’ve tagged me with must be removed and destroyed…”

She met his eye squarely, and swallowed hard before asking, “You want me to…to…cut it out?  Is that even possible?” 

“I’m gambling that it is,” holding her gaze patiently, “As we have no time to spare, you _must_ be my eyes and my hands in this.”

Wide-eyed with apprehension, Seraphina agreed to his request, listening intently to his instructions.  Trusting that she would handle the task with steady hands, Khan removed his shirt, and then moved to kneel with his back towards her, hoping to maximize the fall of moonlight upon his flesh.  Seraphina began to first trace along his spine as he’d directed her; firmly and methodically, then widened her path as she searched for any abnormality.  Given the technology, and what he knew of Marcus’s inclinations, Khan believed his adversary would have seen that the tracker was placed clear out of his reach.

“Nothing…just…nothing,” she muttered under her breath, “There’s nothing here, John—no, wait…”  Her fingers paused beside his right shoulder blade, then pressed harder as she explored the area.  His hissed softly, more in surprise then discomfort, and in seconds he was certain she’d found it.  “There’s something here—it’s small, but it’s hard…it doesn’t feel natural…”

“No hesitation, now, Seraphina; dig it out, and do it quickly.”

He felt her falter for only a moment, and then the blade sliced into his skin.  Fortunately, she only needed to make a shallow cut, and her fingertips probed the wound only briefly before they withdrew.  “Got it,” she exclaimed in relief, “What now?”

“Crush it, if you can,” he commanded, and she did so without hesitation, dropping it to the ground and grinding it under her foot.

“You’re bleeding, John,” she advised him, “It’s slow but steady.  I should apply pressure until it stops.”

“No time,” he told her, quickly slipping his shirt back on and rising to his feet, “It will clot soon enough and we must be on the move.”  He took back the knife, folding the blade back before pocketing it.  “You did well tonight, my brave one,” he rumbled down at her, studying her lovely face in the moonlight, gratified to see no trace of fear, “Better than I deserve.”  Despite what she’d endured, she had risen to meet his need, just as his instincts had told him she would.  An exceptional woman—and in the flush of danger, in the extremity of a situation she never would have encountered if not for him, the fearless beauty of her spirit shone undimmed upon her features.  If he believed she could leave him now and return to her quiet, safe life, he would send her as far from him as possible—she had more than earned it; but her fate was truly tangled up in his now, and truthfully he was loathe to part from her just yet.

“What?” she asked breathlessly, reading the hesitation in his thoughts; caught in the intensity of his regard, she responded unconsciously by moving nearer to him.  Seraphina’s upturned face was temptingly close as she whet her lips—her soft, willing lips, that had been so delicious in the kissing--so that Khan had restrain the urge to trace the curve of her cheek before taking her lips with his own, and force himself to focus on what came next.

“Nothing of concern, Seraphina,” he replied, “Only that you have been an unexpected helpmate in many ways.  I sincerely regret placing you in any harm’s way.”

She shrugged and countered with a show of gay bravado, “No use barring the barn door now, John, as my grammy would’ve said; the horses done moved along.”  She smiled crookedly, then looked away shyly, perhaps thinking her jest had failed to charm him—when in truth, she was charming _and_ distracting him at every turn. 

A small, indulgent smile creased the corners of his mouth, despite the severity of their predicament.  “Come now,” he said, taking her arm gently, urging her forward.  He paused to retrieve his phaser; and Seraphina stopped as they came to the edge of the alley, and the body lying there.  Anticipating her question, Khan answered truthfully, “He lives, though when he wakes--between the headache he will have and the ire of his employer--he may well wish he does not.”  As they passed onto the street, heading for her hovercraft, he added, “He lives, my dear, _only_ because of you.  I will continue to honor the admonishment you laid upon me to do the least amount of harm—though you must understand that the other sealed his fate in threatening your life.”

She bowed her head, “I do, John, and I don’t blame you.  You saved my life…I’m very clear on that.” 

As she moved forward to gather up her fallen things and board the craft, Khan reflected ruefully… _your tender heart may well be my undoing, Seraphina; already I find I cannot do entirely as necessity dictates, for the pain it might bring you._ He took his place at the guidance controls, and began to navigate them back to the crossroads where they had made their fatal choice, and to the journey that lay ahead


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (It's nearly twice the length of most of the other chapters. Because Khan deserves it...it has been 300+ years for him, after all!)

Forty-five minutes later, Khan pulled the hovercraft into the darkened lot of a modest, little roadside inn.  Their agreement to stop for the night remained unspoken, as though a spell of sorts had fallen over the both of them.  Neither cared to look back upon their deadly encounter, let alone discuss it—but each silently recognized a change in the dynamic of their relationship.

Upon reaching the crossroads, Khan had piloted them due north.  Listening to the soothing sound of Seraphina’s breathing, while contemplating the tangle of foolish emotions and ancient memories she had awakened in him, he had reached for her hand—and she had given it willingly.  So small, it seemed, engulfed by his; delicate and soft, but strong too, when the need arose.  The several times he had glanced her way to find her watching him, she’d looked perplexed and a little sad; and when he met her eye, she had looked down or away, as though abashed to be found studying him.

Their silence was not uncomfortable though, and the few words and half-sentences they shared confirmed—for him, at least--that their thoughts were moving in the same direction.  She showed no surprise at his choice to stop, simply nodding, and pressing her lips together against a naughty, knowing smile.  It hit him squarely in the chest, and left him wanting more.

And so he kept the engine idling, while Seraphina went inside to arrange for their lodging.  Khan watched through the atrium window as she conversed with the desk clerk, with an easiness that surprised him in light of the evening’s events.  Leaning in close, as though sharing a secret; seeming to laugh lightly at something the clerk had said; and finally, tendering her payment before signing the registration terminal.  The clerk handed her two keycards, and she headed towards the exit.

“We’re in unit 36,” she told him a bit breathlessly, surely in anticipation of what lay in store for them, “It’s around back.”  She pointed towards their left.  “I thought…well, that it would be more discreet in case they…um…in case someone stumbled onto our trail.”

Khan nodded his approval. “A wise choice, my…” he inhaled sharply, considering carefully what she had become to him, “…my sweet Seraphina.”  She seemed to grow shyer as they drew nearer to their room—which only made her all the more appealing.

Finding their unit, he backed the craft into the space in front, leaving it to face the wooded area behind the inn, positioned so to facilitate a quick departure should it be necessary.

Seraphina carried her satchel and a small overnight bag that she had stored behind the driver seat, and Khan collected the grocery sacks to bring inside.

“I paid for two nights, just in case,” she revealed, her voice grown soft in the quiet of the room, as he bolted the door behind him, “I thought, it’s so late already and perhaps…well perhaps we might not be…be ready to leave at…checkout time.”  She shrugged, tongue-tied now that they were alone, surely feeling the full import of having shut the rest of the world away.

The room was simply furnished; a bed and two nightstands, a plush, wall-to-wall carpet, a large, mirrored bureau, and a small dining table (where he set his parcels down) with two chairs.  The only difference he discerned, from typical night lodgings of his time, was a viewing screen that took up at least three-quarters of the wall across from the bed.  Seraphina left her bags sitting on a chair, and set about unpacking the items she had purchased for them; an assortment of protein bars, several types of fruit, and bottled water.  “I wasn’t exactly sure what you would like, but these should do alright—don’t you think?”

“Of course,” he answered, careless of the objects in question, focused only on the steady current thrumming between them.

“And I got a few things you might need,” Seraphina continued, her words spilling out in a nervous rush, “A toothbrush and a razor; a clean shirt—I hope it’s okay, I just guessed at the size.  And…um…a change or two of…underthings…” 

She trailed off, as Khan moved closer, stilling herself completely as he ran a hand up from the small of her back, to leave it resting between her shoulder blades.  He spoke softly, reassuringly, against her ear, “I’m sure all is _exactly_ as I need.”  Her sudden, aching vulnerability was dizzying him, and making him want to slowly savor every moment to come, despite how his _true_ need was growing stronger with each breath he drew.     

She gave the quietest little moan as he stroked her cheek, and then turned her face up to his so he might lay a soft kiss on her mouth.  “Seraphina,” he exhaled against her lips, “My unexpected, little miracle.”  He kissed her again, and again, and again, never going deep, teasing himself as much as he teased her, making _her_ want to go deep but denying her at the same time.  “Be mine, Seraphina,” he insisted between the tender tease of each kiss, “Be mine…be mine…be mine…”

“Is this real…is this really happening,” she whispered, even as she craned her neck enough to encourage him to paint a trail of moist kisses upon her throat.  Khan slid his palms down to cup her breasts, rubbing his thumbs hard against her nipples, and delighting as she arched into his hands.

He nuzzled his way back to her ear, softly rumbling his answer, “The most real thing I’ve known, in more years than you could possibly imagine,” punctuating his lonely secret by gently tugging her earlobe between his teeth.  It drew from her a surprised gasp, as she tightened her grip on his biceps.  He thought her as ripe and willing as any woman he had ever taken, reading in the way she trembled against him further proof of her desire—until her plaintive tone broke through his fog of lust.

“Please, John…oh please.  Just let me breathe a moment.  We’re moving so fast…and I…oh god,” she panted, struggling for the right words to say, “I want you, I want this…I just…I’ve never been the kind of woman who falls into bed with a man she barely knows…”

Khan backed away, dazed by her seeming refusal, and blinking slowly through the stupor of hard desire. Stymied by her mixed signals, he growled more harshly than he should have, “Woman, what is it you would ask of me?”

She shook her head, moving close and laying her hand against his cheek. “Only that you give me a chance to catch up to you.  That you just—please--bear with me a little bit.  You’re quite…” she swallowed hard, searching his face for understanding, “…quite a force of nature, you know.”  Seraphina bowed her head a moment, sounding a little overwhelmed, “I want to choose this of my own volition, and not because you’ve swept me up in the power of your…” she met his eyes again, her face a perfect mix of guilelessness and longing, and sighed as she told him, “…your beautiful will.”

As potent as was his desire for her, Khan knew in his heart that he _must_ concede to her soft entreaty.  Recalling their delicious trespass all those hours ago—and relishing her sweet fragility now—he realized that he had no true choice but to be patient…for she _was_ a prize well worth waiting for.  

He turned from her, not out of anger or frustration, but because he needed to cool his ardor for a time.  “How prettily you test me, my sweet desert rose,” he grumbled, “So that in this, _I_ must bow to _your_ will.”  He paced to the far side of the room, restless and aching for satisfaction.  Stopping near the window, he parted the drapes enough to peer outside, trying to distract himself from the seething heat in his blood.  Khan heard her quiet ‘ _thank you, John_ ’, and muttered an acknowledgement, registering that she had moved into the bathroom without looking her way.

By the time that she emerged, he had kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed, managing to calm himself and quiet his hunger.  His eyes were closed, as he concentrated purely on breathing; he felt Seraphina approach, but remained still until she cautiously addressed him.

“I suppose I ought to look at that cut now.  At least clean it up, see that it doesn’t get infected.”

He opened his eyes, to find her beside him, a damp washcloth in her hands. _A sweet act of conciliation_ , he thought; _how very like her_.  Though it was unnecessary—his genetic makeup endowed him with a superior immune system, meaning he was seldom prey to illness or infection—he decided to allow it.  It would be ill of him to reject her simple act of kindness.

“Thank you,” Khan murmured, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, leaving room so she might sit beside him.  He pulled his shirt off, discarding it on the floor—completely unprepared for her reaction.

The moonlight in the alley had been enough for Seraphina to excise that insidious tracker from beneath his flesh, but far from enough for her to note his true condition.  She gasped at first, then fell mute, moving a step back to take in the full picture.  In his unwavering focus on getting to London, Khan had put the pain he had endured--at Marcus’s behest--behind him, and so had not given a thought to how he would appear to her.  At her gasp he looked up at her, wordless himself, to explain the sight confronting her.     

Remaining silent, Seraphina studied the map of ugly bruises on his shoulders and torso, her eyes the widest he’d seen them yet.  When she finally found her voice, it was hushed and sorrowful, “Who…who did this to you?”  

Khan blinked several times, fascinated by the minute tremble of her lips; she was holding back some strong emotion, and on his account.  “Unimportant,” he replied dispassionately, “And safer for you not to know.”  And then, uncharacteristically, he looked away, the soft, sympathetic regard in her eyes and the set of her mouth nearly too much to bear.  What was it about her that made him want to appear invincible?  He would not have her think him a victim of any kind.  “These will heal rapidly, and any pain that ordinary men must feel…I…I simply do not.  I master it; it does _not_ master me.”  Of course, he did not add that these sort of injuries would put an ordinary man in the hospital, perhaps clinging to life even with all the medical care available—well, in _his_ time, anyway.  Today, he supposed, the broken ribs would be easily knit, the punctured lungs child’s play to repair.

“Oh, John…why? These men you’re running from…why…why would they beat you so?”  Sera moved closer, cautious and concerned, and he remained still as she sat by his side on the edge of the bed, knowing she wanted to touch him, and realizing he _needed_ the tender mercies she would be offering.  Nearly every conscious moment since he’d been awakened, Khan had waged his lonely battles—physical, mental, emotional—a stranger in a cold, sterile world that valued him for only that which it could rip from him against his will.  He had withstood the rounds of relentless, merciless tests, the repeated psychological games meant to break him, and finally the methodical, repeated beatings administered by men who knew the exact effect of each blow upon the human body (though he was superhuman, even Khan had _some_ limits to his physical endurance, and his captors had explored those limits in every possible way).  Yes, Khan had borne each outrage against his mind and his flesh, reaching deep inside himself for the patience to sustain him, burying the anger and the hate for a future day when he would make Alexander Marcus and his minions pay the most painful and deadliest of prices.  And not once had he sought compassion or clemency, focusing solely on surviving, never imagining a man such as himself would be afforded simple human kindness, even wondering at times if such soft inclinations had finally been bred out of the human race.

Yet here was this kindhearted woman, proving that benevolence did exist in a hard world, reaching out to comfort him.  He’d thought he might wince when she laid her hand upon him, for some of his wounds were still tender, but she touched him gingerly, almost reverently.  Khan would have refused her advance if he’d seen pity in her eyes, but that was not her way.  “John,” she said--her sadness mixed with an irresistible huskiness that left him feeling weak, and hungry at the same time--laying her other hand against one of the lighter bruises, “Let me help you…let me make this right somehow.”  Khan closed his eyes, silently acquiescing, allowing her to move her hands across his skin, letting go at last.  Such tenderness, he realized, had far more power over him that the violence he had endured, answering most unexpectedly, the ache in his soul for true human connection.  Too many lifetimes of men had passed since he’d felt a woman’s touch.  And so gentle a touch as this.  Too many ages.

Slowly, then, and lightly at first, Seraphina began to trace his skin with her fingertips.  Small circles to begin with, and then fanning out a little at a time, from his shoulders and along his collarbone.  She smoothed her palms upon his chest, and his breathing deepened in time with her movements.  She was soothing _and_ stirring him by patient touch alone, and when he exhaled her name she moved in close and began to kiss his neck.  Slow, sweet, and fleeting kisses, coupled with the brush of her hair against him.  Khan leaned his head back a little as her kisses became fuller and more insistent, lingering at the hollow of his throat, and beginning a descent along his sternum. 

His ribs on either side bore the worst of his bruises, but Seraphina caressed them with the greatest care, while brushing her parted lips across his chest, and teasing him with butterfly kisses as she neared where he was most sensitive. He groaned deeply at the electric sensation when she danced the tip of her tongue around his areola, narrowing her circles until she flicked it against the hardened nub at its center.  The urge to touch her was nearly overwhelming him to give back in kind, and even more—yet he longed to lose himself a while still in the exquisite comfort she was giving.  He lost track of time and any sense of place, only aware of the exacting patience of her hands and her lips, her dear, familiar scent, and the shared rhythm of their breathing.

When she withdrew, she rose from his side without a word, so that he opened his eyes to watch her pull her blouse over her head, and drop it at her feet.  Her skin was healthy and unblemished—and in the low light of the quiet room—lightly tanned in contrast to the pale pink of her bra. Khan’s mouth watered at the sight of her nipples beneath the cottony material, little buds drawn tight, sure sign of her desire for him; he ached to take them in his mouth, to tease them with his tongue, and graze them with his teeth, imagining the sort of noises she would make in reply.  A wave of lust coursed through his belly and below, sharply demanding satisfaction, but he made no move as he waited to see how she would proceed. 

Seraphina stood before him in the beautiful prime of womanhood--and in his eyes, her kind and gentle nature was as manifest in her appearance as her lovely physical attributes.  He felt no surprise at the tears of empathy that spilled from her eyes, her pupils fully dilated as she drew nearer; and he knew he’d soon taste the salty trails those tears left upon her cheeks.  Oh he _would_  taste them; he would taste  _all_  of her surely, for he read her intent in how she moved, and in the soft, quick pant of her respiration.   _She will taste like a desert rose_ , he reckoned, his body grown ready for her: _I will drink myself full of the sweet nectar of_   _my desert rose_. 

Then she was slipping off her huaraches and sliding her skirt down past her hips, shimmying a bit until the fabric fell in a puddle around her bare feet.  The waistband of her panties lay low, skimming across her bikini line, tempting him to reach for her and pull her close, so to hook his fingers inside the thin elastic band and tug away the soft fabric that covered her mound.  He wanted to learn the scent of her arousal, to dip his fingertips and tongue into her secret places, and to make all the precious wonders of her supple young body his. 

Khan stood up without prompting, reaching for her; Seraphina’s small, pure smile dazzled him as she moved into his offered arms, delectably compliant as he unhooked her bra, slid the straps down, and then cast it on the floor.  He exhaled hard at the sight of her revealed, his wonder undeniable, “Perfectly lovely…exactly as I expected.”  She lowered her eyes a moment, then met his gaze again, clearly pleased with his appraisal.  On most women, this might appear as the pretense of modesty, but Khan already knew her well enough to know this was no artifice.  

Seraphina slid one arm around his neck, laying her other hand on his shoulder, and began to kiss his neck again.  Flesh on flesh at last, he was aware of every inch of her skin against his; it’s heat a match to his, her smooth, firm breasts pressed tight to him, the muscles of her abdomen as taut and enticing as he’d imagined.  He slipped his hands down her back and inside her panties, cupping her bare bottom so that she moaned deliciously.  There would be no stopping now, this course that had been destined from nearly their first words to one another.

Seraphina leaned back, resting most of her weight in his hands, and then gazed up at him, looking sweet and wanton all at once.  He darted in quick to take her lips in full, thrusting his tongue into her mouth; Khan shivered as she laved her tongue against his, then sucked it boldly, before pulling away.  A lascivious tease, he thought, and one he would be very glad to repay—until she rested the crown of her head against his chest, so she could focus on undoing his jeans with both hands.  She pushed them past his hips and down his thighs, leaving him to shuck them off the rest of the way while she returned her attention to his mouth, nipping at his lips while she pressed her pelvis against his.  Her eager fingertips strayed past the waistband of his underwear, progressing from his back and around to just beneath his navel, her goal quite clear.  He allowed her to smooth her fingers through the springy curls of his pubis, allowed her the touch she so hungrily sought; her fingers were cool upon his heat as she began to run them along the ridges of his hardened phallus.  Khan grunted, tightening his grip on her bottom, making her whimper her affirmation.

But then--by pure force of will--he clamped his hands on her wrists, growling against her ear, as he withdrew her hands from their intimate quest, “Not quite yet, my divine little temptress.  You must ripen even more before I take you.”  Though it felt like forever since he’d had his satisfaction, Khan knew he could master his lust a while yet before that inevitable urge overtook him.  Seraphina sagged against him, moaning her frustration softly; certainly confused, but rife with desire and ready to follow his every whim.

He laid her gently on the bed, pausing to watch her a bit, reading her need in her rapid respiration and in the soft curves of her breasts, waist and hips.  Slowly, he peeled her panties away, purposely breathing deep so that she would see he had caught her scent, and telling her, “You _are_ mine now, Seraphina.”  He ran one hand up from her knee to the juncture of her thighs, stretching his fingers wide and resting his thumb in her soft thatch of hair, his face inches above hers, “As you have wished from the first moment I caught you in my arms.”  Khan kissed her brow, while moving his thumb closer to her slit, his voice a rough caress, “Tell me if this isn’t so.”

Seraphina blinked slowly, then nodded her head, and smiled softly up at him, “Yes, John.  Yes, I am…yes, I wanted this.  I want you.”  Revelation dawned in her eyes, as she understood the true depth of her desire, “I want you…in every way imaginable.”  She brushed her fingers through the fringe that fell over his brow, adding quietly, with a wisdom that pierced his heart, “But don’t deny there is at least some part of _you_ that is _mine_.”

He chuckled warmly, musing wondrously before kissing her long and deep, “In flesh, in spirit, you are indeed the match to me, sweet Seraphina.  Perhaps the universe set you in my path to make amends for the cruelties I have suffered.”  Khan hovered above her, memorizing her smallest details a few moments more, and then blazed a trail of kisses down to her breasts.  “Perfection,” he murmured against her skin, and then took a stiffened nipple between his lips, tickling it with his tongue while she moaned her reply.  Sucking it softly at first, then with increasing pressure before he popped it from his mouth, and moved to lavish his attention on the other. 

At the same time, he finally drifted his thumb down to her clitoris, rubbing gently to begin with, then tracing from its tip downward, along her exposed labia, and back again, varying his strokes to keep her on the edge, and eliciting her deepest moans yet.  His cock pulsed with ferocious need, straining against the material that was the last barrier between them.  Though the deeply buried, primitive part of him cried out for him to plunge himself inside of her, he focused his will on Seraphina’s pleasure, and on preparing her for his eventual entry.  Teasing her a bit more, until he brought his fingers to her opening, finding her slick enough to explore; she pushed against him as he flexed one long finger, and then two, inside her, spreading her legs wider to allow him deeper access.  “Slowly now, my flower; open to me with patience,” he instructed her, “Trust me in this, as in all things now.”

“Ohhhhhhh…but let me touch you, too,” Seraphina implored him, moving one hand from his hair, skimming it quickly down his body, while stretching her fingers to take him in hand. “Let me feel you…all of you…please, John…please.”

Khan moved his pelvis just out of her reach, keeping her in place upon the mattress effortlessly, intensifying his strokes against and inside her.  “No, my precious one, you _must_ wait.  Your sweet touch would surely set me ablaze—but first, I would watch you as you come…”  Her breath caught with that word, and she squirmed beneath his hand, hot, wet, and achingly close to resolution.  “I will feel you in the moment that you peak, proof that you are mine,” he declared, and brought his mouth close to hers, breathing her in.

Seraphina raised her head and latched onto his mouth, her lips and tongue greedy to please him in the only way he would allow.  Her hips moved in sync with his fingers, seeking the release he promised—yet still, she sought to persuade him.  “No…please,” she begged, her breath catching again with  insistent waves of pleasure, as he worked her towards her climax, “Don’t push me over the edge, John…I…aaaaahhhhhh…I don’t want to come until you’re inside me…”

Confident of his power over her—and truly wanting to experience her gratification before his own, he laid his mouth against her ear, “My beautiful one…my sweet flower…we have hours and hours ahead of us.  There is time enough for satisfaction for us both.  Let me please you in this way—and I promise this night that I will give you such delights as no man has ever given you.”  She sobbed softly, confused by the promptings of her heart versus the fire he had kindled in her flesh.  “You are my treasure, Seraphina.  A heavenly oasis in a world that has only ever sought to use me violently.  Trust me, my sweet, and know that I have come to trust _you_ with my life.” 

What little resistance she had managed, vanished in a single beat of his heart, as his talented fingers redoubled their efforts, thrusting deeply inside her again and again, while she ground against the glorious pressure of his thumb stroking her clit.  In moments, Seraphina exploded like a maelstrom, crying out his name, clenching his fingers tightly within her; her hips rose, and her pelvis and legs went rigid, as her body strained to wring every ounce of ecstasy possible from this first penetration.

Though she fell back onto the mattress, her muscles continued contracting, and her body trembled in luscious after throes. Her pelvis twitched when he finally pulled his fingers away, signaling her body’s regret for his absence, testament to his skill.  Khan smiled wolfishly, relishing his indelible effect upon her and anticipating what was to come next, then forged a pathway of soothing kisses back to her passion-bruised mouth.

Resplendently dazed—and with a satisfied flush coloring her skin--Seraphina kissed him back with a tenderness that defied her earlier fervor.  The heat in his blood cried out for equal satisfaction, though he bided his time well enough—knowing he was minutes away from taking her in full.

“That…was…amazing,” she sighed, turning into him, casually nuzzling his neck, “And god, you…you smell amazing…and you feel like heaven…”  She suckled along his clavicle, murmuring against his skin, “You taste like strength, and mystery, and…and forbidden bliss.”  Seraphina slowly exhaled, “And I’d almost think I was dreaming you up—except I’ve never had such an…,” she bit her lip, and her eyelids fluttered shut as her senses relived the glory of it, “…such an intense…orgasm, in a dream before…”

Khan rumbled in his chest, judging her ready for more, while finishing her thought, “Nor in the waking world, I’ll wager.”  She was delightfully easy to read, a creature of little pretense, her heart an open book; the language of her body against his was the only confirmation he needed.  He splayed one hand across her hip onto the small of her back, pulling her against him and leaving not a bit of gap between them.  She _ooooo’d_ , surprised by his sudden roughness, but then conformed to him exactly as he wished, clinging tight while peppering his neck and chest with lusty kisses.

He caught her hand in his, and pressed his lips against her palm.  “Now you will free me,” he ordered her, firmly guiding her hand down and setting it upon his bulging cock, “Free me--and then you may touch me as you desire, Seraphina.”

She complied eagerly, pulling away his underwear and grasping his hard, heavy shaft, feeling his full length and girth for the first time.  Khan grinned at her moan of mixed surprise and trepidation, knowing he surpassed all of her expectations—his generous endowment another gift of his superior genetics.  Her grasp was light and tentative, and she panted shallowly, on the verge of panic.  “John…you’re so…so…big,” she sputtered, “What if I can’t…what if I can’t… _accommodate_ …you?”

“Oh, my sweet—you needn’t fear.”  His voice was patient, silk indulgence, having anticipated this last obstacle.  “You see now why I needed to prepare you--and I promise you are _more_ than ready.”  As proof, he moved one hand between her thighs, his expert fingers exploring her core again, measuring her heat and slathering his fingers with her juices.  His eyes bored into hers, as he willed her to calm and trust him.  Seraphina’s mouth hung slack, as she watched him bring those fingers to his lips and lick her flavor from them.  “Yes, my sweet, you _are_ ready for me.”

She held still for several breaths, choosing her course.  Accepting his word as truth, her lips quirked saucily—and Khan shuddered at the sensation of her thumb rubbing the tip of his cock insistently, capturing droplets of his pre-come on her skin.  Avidly, he watched her suck her thumb, signaling her full submission to whatever he might ask of her.

Khan rolled Seraphina onto her back, taking in her full beauty once more, before mounting her.  She kept her eyes locked on his, and they whispered endearments and loving encouragements back and forth, touching one another and never breaking contact altogether.  Still marveling at his size, and seeing him ready to bury himself inside her, Sera grasped her knees from behind, pulling her legs back as far as she could, opening to him, vulnerable to him, her clitoris visibly pulsing with renewed need.  Khan gripped her hips for purchase, and surprised her one last time, lowering his mouth and tenderly kissing her mound, then caressing her clit with the tip of his tongue; she cried out her bliss, writhing beneath him, raising herself to meet his full lips.  She was close again, so close to more rapture, but this time Khan would have her orgasm engulf him.

Seraphina whimpered as he moved away from her wet portal, as suddenly as he’d begun pleasuring her there.  “Hush, my sweet,” he cooed, scattering random kisses across her abdomen, and gently grazing the smooth skin of her breasts, on his way back to her mouth, “Have I not promised you all that you desire?  And have I not proven myself a man of my word?” 

She was nearly incoherent, only able to moan, and when he took her mouth again, he matched that moment by slipping the head of his cock into her melting pussy.  He groaned with the joy of it, the purest pleasure he had of her yet, holding himself still as she bucked beneath him, begging him in that way to fill her completely.  Unable to hold back a moment longer, he thrust his full length into her, the sensation so keen that he saw stars behind his closed lids.

It would be quick this time, Khan knew, from so long an abstinence.  His heart hammered in his chest, pumping blood that had become molten as he rutted into her again and again, his magnificent brain shutting down all thought but the imperative to take his pleasure at last.  He was aware enough to feel her lock her ankles together at the small of his back, and to feel her arms encircle him, holding on hard as he unrepentantly drove her body into the mattress.  Seraphina encased him like a glove, and she met his movements measure for measure, her growing moans a heavenly counterpoint to the groans he felt rising from the seat of his soul.

With mere moments left to him, Khan snaked one hand between them, seeking her perfect little nub, her most sensitive spot, rubbing it roughly and pushing her to climax.  She rose to meet his final thrusts, the powerful waves of her orgasm pulling him past his endurance, and he came furiously, all his consciousness focused on their connection, his cock convulsing as he spilled himself inside her.

For unnumbered moments, they seemed suspended in time, so intimately connected, throbbing together in the aftermath, and for that brief time unable to tell where he began and she ended.  Seraphina drew deep gulps of air, her exhales cooling his sweat soaked skin.  Khan found himself shaking, telling himself it was only the flood of hormones that hit is system, after a three hundred year absence.  In truth, he knew of only one other woman who had drawn such a reaction from him; the comparison was too apt for comfort, and he shut those thoughts away.

When he looked down upon her, Seraphina smiled up at him, biting her lip, a sudden bashfulness complimenting the glow she wore for him.  She rested one hand on the side of his neck, and the other she nested in his mussed hair, then raised her face closer to kiss his slightly parted lips, lingering on his bottom lip, spoiling him with gentleness after his rough use of her.  “Are you well, my sweet,” he asked, solicitous of her comfort.

Her smile grew wide, and rather soppy, “Never better in all my life, my beautiful, dark…”  She hovered a moment, in search of a perfect word, “My beautiful, dark, magnificent prince.”

“You flatter me, Sera,” he chuckled, using the diminutive of her name for the first time—for she truly was _his_ now, in all ways.  His steadiness restored, he continued, “But I will take it, along with anything else you care to give to me.”  He took her mouth in a long, passionate kiss, her sweetness become the only candy that would ever satisfy him.  Delaying the inevitable no longer, Khan withdrew from her as gently as he could, though she still hissed softly at the loss of connection.  And, oh, she would be sore tomorrow—but he could not regret a moment of how he’d taken her.  Of how you _loved_ her, the voice of his younger self corrected him; he shut that thought away as swiftly as it came.

Sera turned into him, as he laid beside her, and rested her head on his shoulder.  Though her voice was drowsy, Khan thought perhaps they’d couple a time or two more before sleep overtook her—and if so, his patience would exact magnificent pleasure upon her warm and willing form.

She traced her fingers across his chest randomly, and brushed her lips against his skin as suited her in the moment.  Khan rested his nose against her hair, relaxed in a way he had not been since well before his ascendancy as leader of the Augments.  Already the temptation to turn his back forever on that life--in favor of spending days, months, perhaps years, in the splendor of her loving—was insinuating itself inside his mind.  He vowed to tread with greater caution in regards to her heart as they moved forward on their journey.

“It’s DiPietro, by the way,” she confided against his skin, “In case you were wondering.”  A pleasant sigh punctuated her statement.

“What is?” 

Sera kissed along his jaw, her answer rich with amusement, “My surname.”

“Ahhhhhh,” he rumbled, recalling her hesitance in what—now--felt like a full week ago.  “DiPietro,” he repeated, enjoying the feel of it upon his tongue.

“Yes,” she laughed. “I didn’t want to trust you, you know.  I thought it would be safer not to say,” she admitted.

“And now?”  He had an inkling as to her reply.

“I would trust you with more than my life,” she confessed, unaware of the drift of his own thoughts, “I would trust you with my heart.”

The only answer he felt safe to give, was to pull her soft against him—hoping it would suffice for now.  Hoping that when the end came, he would _not_ have to break such a beautiful, yet unasked for gift, and one so tenderly offered.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be prepared for deep Khan feels--and some more delicious smut!

Seraphina drowsed again, fully contented, and warmly curled against him.  Sunlight framed the edges of the heavy drapes on the picture window, marking the time of day as mid-morning, and illuminating the room enough to allow Khan to study her in innocent repose.  Even asleep, she remained a ripe temptation, as he willed his fingers to behave a while yet.  She would surely sleep past checkout time, allowing them a convenient excuse to remain until nightfall--at least—so that his patience now would be rewarded with untold hedonistic pleasures in the hours in between.

She had given herself over to him repeatedly through the night, and like a man whose thirst only grew from drinking without limit from a bottomless cup, Khan’s continued need for her remained greater than he had reckoned it would be, overriding his vital obligation--and simple, common sense.  He knew himself enough to understand that the reasons for this reckless behavior went far beyond his desire for physical gratification; he had carried an emptiness inside, from well before his long sleep, and the time spent in Alexander Marcus’s cells had honed that feeling into a knife’s edge, quietly cutting him to the quick.  The man he saw reflected in Seraphina’s eyes was his ideal self—and her compassion and passion had begun to fill that emptiness, in ways he had never anticipated.  Khan was keenly aware that she was fast falling in love with him, despite how jaggedly he had ripped her from her life—and with every moment spent in her company, he felt his delicious little flower taking deep, deep root in the long forbidden places of his heart.  Khan hadn’t the will to turn away from everything she offered him...just yet.

And so he had carefully calculated the odds of their discovery, and deeming the risk acceptably low, he had chosen to tarry here.  His people—his _family_ —were going nowhere; they remained in their frozen sleep.  Marcus had taunted him with photographic proof on several occasions, believing it motivation enough for Khan to cooperate in full.  Khan had used those incidents to gather as much information as he could regarding the conditions of their captivity, cataloguing the details to aid him in their rescue when opportunity would arise.  He knew his opponent well enough to expect the admiral to leave Khan’s crew exactly where they rested now, for they were the only bait that held any meaning for him.

Until Seraphina, of course.

Khan would never allow her to be harmed again, taken, threatened, toyed with by those seeking his capture.  His fierce commitment to protect his people now extended to her.  He would lay down his life, if need be, to shield and shelter her.  And if he could not save her from a most dismal fate at the hands of his enemies, he would—as mercifully as he could--take her life himself.

Softly she stirred, but did not awaken.  In the lull of some dream (Khan hoped it was as pleasant as the waking dream she had become to him), Seraphina shifted a bit, nestling even closer into him.  He closed his eyes, breathing in the simple beauty of the moment, thinking he should sleep a while himself, finally allowing himself to drift away--his last conscious thought that of savoring the beloved scent of honey and jasmine, which had only just begun to fade from Seraphina’s hair.

* * *

 

Augments dreamed as easily as lesser men, but—courtesy of their superior minds—their dreams were far more vivid and literal than the fuzzy, symbolic dreams of ordinary _homo sapiens_.  And blessed as they were with nearly picture perfect memories, Augments dreams seldom evaporated like mist upon awakening.

Khan had taken Seraphina’s perfume into the depths of his dreams, and his reward was bittersweet—the bittersweet he had delayed each time the scent memory had threaten to overwhelm him in the waking world.  His youth now played out before him, in colors as vibrant as though he were living those days again.

 _Honey_.  _Jasmine_. His _first_ delicate flower.  He’d been fifteen when he had taken her—the lovely girl so wholly willing—well outside of the strictures laid down upon his kind.   _His_  seed was not to be wasted in breeding with inferior stock.  But that one—his dear little Inaaya—had spirit and beauty worthy of a prince.  Had love in her heart enough to fill an ocean.  Love enough to see past the monster which many believed the genetically engineered to be.

Khan had been schooled in the act of pleasure and procreation, as befitted his station, first by grown women of his own kind, and then by lesser females—all sterilized, to prevent conception of a hybrid—to slake the tidal force, the powerful hunger, of his burgeoning adolescent lusts.  His mistake—his crime—was to feel a tenderness for a creature as far below him as a street mongrel was to a Himalayan wolf.  That tenderness burned like a flame in his chest, shocking him and rivaling that biological imperative that  _all_  teenage boys experience.  No one had been wise enough to warn him that such feelings only led to pain.  

Ina’s sweet face, her slender limbs and budding bosom, her quiet ways, and her forbidden hungers that had ever matched his own—all memories stirred from the depths of his mind by a swath of Seraphina’s hair—drew tears of regret and painful sorrow from his eyes as he slept. His little Inaaya, gentle as a lamb in service of his household, but fierce as his own flame in the lovemaking they had shared. Unashamed she had been, unabashed, to moan confessions of her love for him, each time he had taken her.  _That_  was a secret he had buried deep; deeper each year he had moved away from those callow days, onto the destiny he’d been taught awaited him. _She_  had loved him unselfishly, and ever seemed a well of giving, always aiming to please him, guilelessly believing their trysts were part of some absurd, romantic fairy tale.

And of course, when she had eventually ripened (in his lucid dreaming, Khan felt a hot shaft of pain centered in his chest as he saw again with dreadful clarity, the beautiful fullness of her pregnant form; recalling too, his youthful pride in that physical manifestation of his virility) Inayaa’s abiding love for him was enough to make her bravely bear the child that inevitably took her life.  He’d been forced to watch the labor, to learn the lesson well; to strengthen him, toughen him; to teach him not to make that same mistake again.  The doctors could have taken the child by Cesarean, but had not, allowing instead for his dear, sweet flower to be torn fatally inside—howling in pain as she brought the boy forth—and then falling silent as her lifeblood gushed from her shredded womb in the poor baby’s wake.  He had wanted to hold the little mewling babe in the aftermath, to feel its strong, steady heartbeat, a living remnant of their passionate affair, but they had whisked the child away even before Inaaya’s body had grown cool. Not as punishment, but simply as another lesson.  When he finally set his eyes upon the boy again, Joachim was an adolescent himself, a total stranger to his sire—and Khan himself the leader he’d been groomed to be, with no time for such attachments, as he fought the wars that mankind razed against his people…

Khan awoke with a gasp, his face damp with dream tears, his urge to flee those visions so strong that he had risen from his pillow to sit up before he was fully awake.  He might have bolted from the bed if not for the gentle soul at his side.  “It’s alright, John,” she crooned, holding his flushed face in her cool hands, “Whatever it is, it’s a dream…”

“Inaaya,” he whispered, and for a moment, his vision doubled, and it was Ina’s well-loved face before him; he blinked hard to restore his sight to normal, and there was Seraphina’s lovely face exactly as should be.  Her brow was creased with concern, as she sought to calm and assuage him.  She placed a palm against his forehead, checking for fever, and then let her hand linger, trying to soothe him as best she could.  With the lightest touch, she traced her fingertips against his temple, encouraging him to relax and lay back on his pillow.   Seraphina echoed the promise he’d made when she had needed his comfort in that fateful alley, kissing his forehead, his cheek, and then beside his ear, “You’re safe, John…I swear it.  Those men can’t hurt you now.  I’m with you, and…and I’m not going anywhere.”  She kissed his mouth gently, breathing against his lips, “ _We’re_ safe now—I promise you.”

He closed his eyes, focusing on the tenderness in Seraphina’s voice, and in her touch.  The dream had been agonizingly real, the pain as fresh as the day he’d lost his dear Inaaya—and it was all too slow to fade.  Coupled with that was shame for his weakness and loss of control, and for allowing what should _now_ be inconsequential, to unman him so.

Khan felt her shift her weight a bit, as she grabbed a bottle of water from the bedside table.  “Drink this,” she told him, “Slow and easy, okay?”  He cracked one eyelid open, and nodded his acceptance, taking the bottle from her, and obediently following her instructions.  The cool water brought relief to his parched throat, helping to ground him in the present.

“There…that’s better, isn’t it?”  Her quiet patience was the exact solace he needed—though he never would have asked for such.  Still troubled, and wholly unwilling for her to see how badly he’d been shaken, Khan nodded, allowing her to believe it was.

Seraphina was studying him carefully, searching perhaps for a crack in his façade.  “I am well, Sera,” he told her, modulating his voice to cover any hint of vulnerability, “There is no need for concern.  A ridiculous dream, only.”  He managed a smile, for her sake alone.

“Of course,” she nodded, though clearly not convinced, “Just a dream.”  Looking down, she took his hand, her manner deferential. “And what is… _inayaa_?”

Khan drew a deep breath, indulging her curiosity, “Oh, my sweet, merely a ghost from my long-forgotten past.”  As she looked doubtful, he added,   “Insubstantial, and holding no sway outside the world of dreams.”

Skeptical still, she accepted his answer, “A powerful ghost, to disturb you like this.”  Closing her eyes, she lifted his hand close and brushed her lips across his knuckles.  Khan shivered at the sweetness of it; at the kindness of her spirit, reading the unspoken truth and allowing him his dignity.  Her lips lingered on his skin, her moist breath teasing him with the promise of all she was willing to give to help him hold such painful memories at bay.  His pulse quickened with that realization.

Seraphina smiled languorously, taking her time, laying his palm against her breast.  He ran his thumb over her stiffened nipple, savoring the growth of her desire, as she closed the space between them.  She held his hand in place against her, pressing him to press her harder, while adorning his neck with soft, healing kisses, and encouraging him to lay fully back.  His tension began to drain away, replaced by ardent anticipation.

When her face hovered over his, the softness in her eyes mirrored the ready tenderness of her heart, almost overwhelming him with wonder that mere chance alone had brought her to him at such a low and desperate time in his life.  Khan had  _never_  believed in the old religion which some of his contemporaries had chosen to embrace.  Of symmetry and the circle of life; of death and return and rebirth.  Losing Inaaya in so cruel a manner had cured him of even the faintest belief that there was any sense or order to the universe, especially that which might have been set in place by a benevolent power beyond the visible world.  And he was a man of science and reason after all--leaving no place in his life for the comfort of such a philosophy.

But this woman--his gentle Seraphina--was so like his Inaaya, in such vital ways, that Khan found himself reconsidering the myths of the ancient creed that had dominated the culture he came from.  That his dear one had been lost to him hundreds of years ago—it was madness to believe Seraphina could be Inaaya returned to him.  And yet he wished with all his heart that it could be so… 

“What?” she asked quietly, likely surprised by the softness such reflections must have brought to his eyes.  She smoothed the fingers of her right hand through his hair, resting them there, and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth.  Moving her head back slightly, Sera encouraged him to speak, “Tell me please—and I’ll banish this ghost however I can.”  And then, shyly as though she had somehow transgressed upon his privacy, she added, “If that’s something that you’d have me do.”

Khan threaded one hand in the silky fall of her hair, captivated by her beauty—for it was far greater than her physical appearance alone.  In the heat of passion, he had called her his treasure, and she was proving it effortlessly with each passing hour.  “No ghost exists that could stand against your gentle heart,” he told her, his voice grown low and urgent, and rich with wanting her again, “No darkness that _you_ could not dispel with your bright light.”  He pulled her close, to lie atop him, and laid claim to her mouth with a hungry, searing kiss.

* * *

 

Seraphina accepted that she was a changed woman since the desert.  Hell, she knew she was forever changed from the woman she had been, in the moment they’d entered this room and locked the rest of the world away.

John Harrison.  Instinctively, she had recognized that his name was false, but Sera no longer cared; the only truth she craved now was the taste of his mouth on hers, the caress of his strong hands upon her flesh, and the glorious sensation of him stretching her, filling her, completing her--and satisfying her as no man in her past ever had.  Shamelessly, intimately, claiming her as his own—while claiming her heart in ways well _beyond_ the physical.

To say Harrison was unlike any man she had ever known was a naive understatement.  His authoritative manner and persuasive charisma had hit her hard within minutes of being in his presence.  Harrison’s jet black hair and exotic, fascinating eyes, his handsome, angular features, and his tall, lean, muscular build all conspired to overcome her initial misgivings; and he moved with a coiled, steely grace that was deceptively easy—until need forced him to spring forth and relentlessly overwhelm an opponent.  Or—heaven help her—to quite literally sweep her off her feet.

Seraphina found his speech archaic, almost poetic at times—which made for a powerful appeal to the minstrel and artist in her soul. Even when his voice turned gruff and dangerous, it was dark silk…and lush velvet…and always-- _always_ \-- somehow commanding, as though he was used to being obeyed without question.  She couldn’t resist it, and at her core she had no desire to. 

And when he spoke her name?  It was like a dark, decadent caress, so that she had to fight to focus on the moment just to keep her knees from going weak.  Spoken in their intimacies, it was deep and low and unrelenting, an invitation to every secret sin she had ever fantasized about.  After the things he’d done to her through the night—and the things they’d done together—Sera felt no shame in admitting to herself that she grew aroused just _hearing_ her name issue from his ever-tempting lips.

Such was his power over her, and Sera could deny him nothing.

At times, he had grown a bit rough with her--though never enough to hurt her; but she had clung to him all the tighter each time, as years of secret fantasies of being taken by storm, found wanton fruition in this dark, mysterious lover.  But he was so much more than that; Harrison’s potent virility and strength, his commanding presence and cunning brilliance, masked a surprising tenderness and unexpected vulnerability—making for an irresistible combination.  Witness to whatever sorrow had revisited him in his dream, Seraphina now ached to be the balm for _any_ pain he had ever endured.

Oh, he was powerful alright, in every delicious way a woman might imagine.  But in the hours since they’d met, he had unwittingly awoken Seraphina’s power:  strength and confidence in the face of dire adversity, and a fiery will to live.  A desire to love and be loved passionately, and to never settle for anything less.  And in this moment, in this private world where only she and John Harrison existed, her soul responded to his soul’s unspoken need, moving her to love him with unparalleled abandon.

Every inch of his skin was subject to her adoration; having learned what pleased him best, Sera focused on his pleasure alone.  Her hands exploring the firm contours his musculature, her lips and tongue, tasting and teasing his smooth flesh.  Grazing his marvelous skin with her teeth, leaving love bites where he was most sensitive.  Deep moans rose from his chest as he rooted his hands in her hair, urging her along to where he longed for her attention.  She was dizzy with the joy of it; of this spectacular, powerful man allowing her to lead.  Having submitted to his will again and again, the feel of her growing power over him was intoxicating.

From along his lowest ribs, Seraphina kissed her way to his navel, relishing the taste and the smell of his skin, and how he began to move beneath her.  “My dark prince,” she murmured, moving her mouth slowly downward, trailing her hands to his hips, “Beautiful stranger…lover divine…”  Words that came unfiltered from her heart, for she could not conceal the truth of the feelings he’d awakened in her. 

Khan tightened his fingers in her hair, and moaned her name; he was rock hard and ready for whatever she intended.  Sera pressed her breasts against him, and he rocked his pelvis to meet her, seeking sweet friction--and the feel of him there heightened her own arousal.  She covered his hot flesh in moist kisses from hip to hip, moaning a little herself at the sinful sensation of his cock trapped against her—and at the thought of what she wanted to do to him.

She continued with insistent, loving kisses, growing steadily closer to her goal; Khan ground against her, anticipating her exquisite purpose.  His musk filled her senses, heightening her hunger to please him.  Seraphina paused, tilting her head so she could look up at him, at the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply, at his beautiful mouth falling open with a frustrated groan as she left off.  Khan tugged hard enough at her hair to make the roots smart, demanding in that way that she continue.  Though she still held him in her sway, Sera was thrilled to comply.  She slid down his body just that little bit more and began to taste his engorged member.

First, with the lightest brush of her lips along the length of his erection, going slowly to draw out his delight; then swirling her tongue from its base to the ridge on the bell end and back again.  He hissed out a curse, when she lightened her contact, testing and teasing him, and he thrust his hips upward, soundlessly pleading for more.  She responded by cupping his testes gently and stroking them with her thumb, while circling the flat of her tongue around the head of his cock.  His voiced strained as he implored her repeatedly to take him in her mouth; Sera had never felt more rife with sexual power in her life.

Nor had she ever enjoyed this act more, knowing that she was fulfilling this beautiful man’s need.  Rising up a bit, encasing him in her other hand while continuing to fondle his balls, she licked his tip several times, joyful to partake of his salty flavor—and finally, _finally_ , she moistened her lips and settled them around him. 

“Ahhhh…ohhhh…fuck yes, my sweet…my beautiful one…” he growled, arching into her mouth, “My little goddess…drink me in…empty me…” 

His words enflamed her; her fervor to satisfy him in this way was now equaled by how keenly she ached to feel his hardness fill her below, so to ride him until they were both spent.  Seraphina drew on him slowly, patiently, while stroking him firmly in hand with the same rhythm.  Carefully reading how much longer he might last, while judging not to take him too deep; to the edge and no more, for she had decided to take her share of pleasure _from_ him as well.

Sera could feel how badly he wanted to drive himself further into her mouth—a daunting prospect given his size; but he’d shown her a care in their lovemaking through the night, an unasked for restraint when it came to anything that might truly hurt her, so that she trusted he would forebear _her_ restraint a little longer. 

Gradually, she glided one hand to grip his thigh, and settled one knee, and then the other, along the outside of his legs, straddling him.  Khan stilled himself, anticipating her next moves.  She lessened her suction, incrementally, before sliding him out of her mouth, noting the strain of his muscles as he worked to stay himself from thrusting back in.  He let out a disappointed, strangled sound as Seraphina left off, even as she tongued his tip on last time, and kissed him there several times more.

Quickly now, she skimmed her body over his, brushing her breasts against him as she went, the tease of it pleasing herself as much as her dark lover.  Khan opened his eyes as her face lingered over his.  His pupils nearly filling his irises completely, she saw in them such vulnerable beauty that her own eyes prickled with tears—and he must’ve seen that for himself, for he smiled.  A sad, beautiful smile, as he whispered her name, piercing her heart forever.  Sera couldn’t question how it was possible she felt so deeply for him, so soon; she only accepted it as truth, and lowered her mouth to his to keep herself from blurting out things best left unsaid.

She nested her hands in the enticing thickness of his hair, and met his passionate kisses eagerly, knowing that later she’d find her lips bruised and tender from the play of his lips and tongue and teeth upon them.  No real or even imagined kisses had ever moved her so.  Khan smoothed his hands from her shoulders and down her back, clasping her greedily to him; his erection throbbed against her, and Sera rubbed her slick center against it, with slow, purposeful strokes, the contact between them sparking her clitoris enough, so that she had to stop before she came too soon.

He dug his fingers into her hips, grunting hard when she ceased her strokes—and then reading her body’s signals, he directed her, “Ride me.”  Gruffly, panting, unrepentant in his lust, “No more play, Seraphina…ride me hard…ride me now…”

Obediently—and because it was _her_ will as well—she positioned herself above him; with one hand encircling his base, Sera breeched herself slowly, tightening her muscles around the head of his cock and holding him there while he groaned for more, and then finally relaxing enough to take him fully inside.  The sweet, familiar burn of him filling and stretching her, made sweeter still as she set their pace for immeasurable minutes; Khan’s responsive slow, deep thrusts a remarkable exertion in patience.  She gripped his knees to brace herself, and leaned back, all her thought focused on their connection, while he grabbed her knees to steady her.  The angle and the pressure of his extraordinary shaft inside her was something new to her, the compression on her nethers sinful and glorious, those sensations combining to be heavenly beyond words; he was cursing with the pleasure of it, and calling her the sweetest names.  Physically, brilliantly, fucking her—but in the end it was the power of his passionate cries that pushed her past endurance.

Seraphina rocked forward just as she reached her peak, head thrown back and gripping his hips hard.  “Cum in me,” she called out, “Oh, my prince…cum in me now…please…oh please…”  Enrapt in the intensity of her orgasm, he followed in moments, bucking hard beneath her; the blessed heat of his spurting seed painting her walls inside, and her muscles contracting around him divinely.  Riding out the diminishing waves of their shared climax, they moaned their release together, as close to being one as any pair of lovers might become.

Panting, thirsting, and beautifully weakened, Sera leaned down to kiss his face and neck, the hormones of love coursing through her blood.  Regretfully she lifted away from him, then moved to his side and laid her head against his shoulder, while he wrapped one arm around her, and smoothed a hand against the crown of her hair.  Contented silence ruled the room, until she broke it with a wistful sigh.

“What, my sweet?  What are you thinking?”  His sounded sleepy and completely relaxed.  Sera prayed that when he slept, any dreams he had would be peaceful ones.

She sighed again, inclining her head to lay her cheek against his chest, unconsciously matching her breathing to his.   “I just…I just never want to leave this room.”

She felt his rumble of laughter, so soothing against her skin, before he answered.   “Only a powerful temptress could compel me to abandon my quest,” he teased her, and then added more seriously, “And for you, I would, my sweet Seraphina.  But I know you would never require it of me, with lives hanging in the balance.”

Sera couldn’t speak; it was truth almost too much to bear.  To have given her very heart to him in their lovemaking—and feel he’d done the same—and to know their time was still finite.  Far too much to bear.  All she could manage was to nod her assent, squeezing her eyes tight against the helpless tears that wet his chest, finding what comfort she could in the warmth of his embrace.   

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
